


The Winter of Discontent

by Rosie_Rues



Series: The Rising Storm [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1979, Community: blanketforts, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-06
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 58,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosie_Rues/pseuds/Rosie_Rues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sirius Black wakes up on the 1st day of 1979 embracing a Christmas tree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That am Rudely Stamp'd, And Want Love's Majesty

_Thump, thump, thump._

That wasn’t just his head. That was his door.

 _Oh, fuck_

He was not answering it. Because, frankly, if he moved he was going to throw up over everything and then he’d probably cry and throw up some more and beg to die and the person he was cuddling would hate him for ever.

The very prickly person he was cuddling. His cheek felt like it was full of pins.

 _Thump, thump, thump._

Prickly person meant male which might just, possibly, maybe mean Remus. An extremely unshaven Remus. Though it didn’t smell like Remus. Back when they actually did things like this Remus had smelt of chocolate and ink and dirty socks. He had never smelt of pine.

Sirius opened his eyes.

He was cuddling the Christmas tree.

There was a red bauble in front of his eyes and he blinked at his reflection. Even distorted and pink, he looked terrible. He closed his eyes again.

 _Thump, thump, thump._ “Oy! Black! Open up! I’ve got something important to tell you!”

 _Potter_. The evil, sober, hearty, thumping bastard. The party-deserter. The traitor. Sirius summoned the energy to tell him where to get off. All that came out was a whimper of, “Furg uff.”

“Is that Prongs?” Peter said cheerfully.

Sirius opened his eyes and peered up at him. He had a plate of bacon in his hand and there was tomato sauce smeared across his cheek. He looked bleary-eyed but he was standing. Not fair.

“Shall I get the door?”

Sirius wanted to say, _Yes, and then tell the smug wanker to stick his own antlers down his throat and go away._ What came out was, “Yeurgh.”

“Okey-dokey.”

Sirius blinked painfully. He hadn’t just heard that. He was hallucinating. With a moan, he tried to sink back into unconciousness. Unconciousness didn’t like him anymore, though. Like Remus. Which was why he’d pulled the Christmas tree.

“Morning, Wormtail,” James boomed. “Black, you drunken sot, wake up. Where’s Moo- who the _fuck_ are all these people?”

Sirius cracked his eyes open. There did seem to be an unusually large number of people passed out on his floor. He tried to remember last night.

“Sirius found them,” Peter said helpfully. “After you and Lily left.”

“Where?” James demanded.

He could remember that so he mumbled, “Lessur Squh.”

“Leicester Square,” translated Peter.

James blinked and ran his hand through his hair. “Do you know any of them?”

“Nuhbay.”

“That was either a no or a maybe. Possibly a don’t know.”

Peter had always been too bloody good at Runes.

“Right,” James said and drew breath. Sirius winced and tried to bury his ears in the tree.

“ _Alright, you lousy lot of freeloading wankers! Up! Up! Up! Party’s over! Time to fuck off! Out! Out! OUT!_ ”

It hurt. He was going to cry. And the tree was trying to stick a branch into his belly. Even his Christmas tree hated him.

“Piss off somewhere while I sort this out, Pads,” James said, lowering his voice slightly.

“Guh buh sih.”

“He’s going to be sick.”

“Then go and stick his head down the bog.”

Peter bent down and muttered a spell before pulling Sirius away. If any of the random Muggles on his floor were watching they’d think Pete was helping him. They wouldn’t realise he was floating. Him and his tree.

“Let the Christmas tree go, Pads.”

“Muh Cissmus Tea.”

“I know. It’s a very nice tree. It won’t be nearly so nice if you throw up on it.”

“Somun alreadeh hes.”

“I noticed,” Peter muttered. “C’mon, Pads. Put the tree down.”

He relinquished it reluctantly. Peter sped up, dragging him towards the bathroom at what must have seemed superhuman speed. Thankfully, nobody had beaten him to the loo. Peter propped him up against the bowl and said, “Morning, Moony. Happy New Year.”

“Morning. Padfoot alive?”

“Almost.”

He was too alive. All too fucking alive. He was in pain and they were mocking him. He dragged himself up and blinked down at the bowl. Bloody house elves hadn’t cleaned it.

He didn’t have a house elf. How did you clean a loo without a house-elf? Remus would know. He opened his mouth to ask and promptly threw up. By the time he’d finished Peter had gone. He rested his cheek on the cool porcelain and peered sideways. Remus was slumped in the shower. He had pulled the screen closed and was eyeing Sirius warily.

“Happy New Year,” Sirius croaked.

“Happy Nineteen Seventy-Nine,” Remus said solemnly. “Again. Are you sober?”

“Uh. Bad. Wanna be drunk again.”

Remus slid the screen back and crawled out. “Poor old Padfoot.”

He needed to throw up again. This time Remus came and held his head and gave him a cold flannel afterwards. Sirius pressed it against his forehead and nudged Remus’ knee in what he hoped translated as gratitude. “Why you in the shower?”

“It seemed safe.”

“From what?”

“Ah. Do you remember Auld Lang Syne?”

“Song. Know the words. Some of them. Did we sing it?”

“Yes.”

He could remember it, a blur of noise and colour and beer spilling down his chin and his hands - _fuck_. He dropped his head into the bowl again. If he contorted himself enough he could drown down here. He wasn’t meant to do that. He promised himself he wouldn’t.

“I wasn’t sure if you remembered,” Remus said hesitantly.

“Sorry. Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Stupid fucking drunk.” He tried to bang his head against the bowl and Remus grabbed his hair and dragged him out.

“If you die like that your family will laugh at you.”

Sirius glared up at him. That was underhand. “Didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Remus said soothingly. “You were drunk. It was just a bit of a shock.”

“Fucking awful drunk.” He wasn’t allowed to touch. He wasn’t allowed to let Remus know he wanted to.

Peter stuck his head round the door. “Pads, have you got any salamander blood for a hungover cure?”

“Powdered. Cupboard above sink. With the tea.”

“Have the Muggles gone?” Remus asked.

“Nearly. Prongs just rolled a couple downstairs and that seemed to speed them up.”

Remus winced.

“Do you want potion, Moony?”

“No, but if you’re making tea…”

“No problem. I’ll put some more bacon on as well.”

Sirius’ stomach rebelled again.

By the time the Muggles were gone and the potion was brewed enough for Peter and Remus to pour it down his throat it was beginning to get dark. Sirius stumbled to his kitchen table, trying to ignore the wreckage of his flat. He sank down into his chair and dropped his aching head into his hands.

“We’ll stay to help with the clearing up,” Peter said.

“Thanks,” Sirius muttered. “And, yeah, thanks for earlier, all of you.”

James waved his hand in the air. “All in a day’s work, Pads, my man. Now, are you wankers finally ready to hear my news?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Speak, o, mighty one. We await your pearls of wisdom with baited breath.”

James punched him and Remus flicked a salted peanut at him. Why were there so many peanuts left? Weren’t people meant to have eaten them?

“What’s your news?” Peter asked, nose twitching.

James sat back in his chair, grinning. “I,” he said grandly, “have bought a house.”


	2. That am Rudely Stamp'd, And Want Love's Majesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Floorboards and borrowed sheets.

It was a nice enough house, as empty houses went. Sirius wasn’t sure what he was meant to say about it. It had a kitchen and five bedrooms (“ _for you lot and yeah, well, y’know, um. Right, next room!_ ). It had two bathrooms and a funny little cupboard with some sort of heater in ( _I dunno. Some Muggle thingy. Bloke who was here before – his wife was a Muggle. They’ve gone to Australia. Safer, he said._ ) and a big garden with a covering of snow and a swing. There was a bus stop down the road but the fireplace was connected.

“We’re outside the congestion zone,” James said wisely, “so we’ll have to pay extra to get to work but you wouldn’t believe how much higher the house prices are in central London.”

Sirius blinked and tried to assume the look of an experienced property owner. “Yeah.”

The fireplace crackled and Remus stumbled out, rosy-cheeked and sweaty. “Morning.”

“Afternoon,” James said pointedly. “You look warm.”

“We’ve been clearing the snow off the steps and drive. Guests coming tonight.”

“You’ve got snow too?” Sirius asked, cheered. If Remus had to live such a stupidly long way away, at least they could have some weather in common.

“Never seen a winter like it. The sea keeps freezing. This it, then, Prongs?”

James glared at him disdainfully. “A little more respect for Potter Manor, please.”

“I thought it was called Pooh Corner?” Sirius said and Remus snorted.

James winced. “I can change the name. Right, Moony. Time for the tour.”

“Lunch,” Sirius wailed. They’d only just finished the last tour and he didn’t want to see a lot of empty rooms again. If they waited until after lunch he might have forgotten a floorboard or two.

James hesitated. Remus caught Sirius’ eye and said, “I’m starving, James. I brought some of Dad’s soup.”

“Beer,” James said cheerfully. “Pads?”

“Peanuts,” Sirius said gloomily. “Salted, dry-roasted and honey-coated.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Where are going to eat? And where’s Pete?”

“At work. On the floor. I don’t have furniture yet.”

Remus knelt down and arranged a folded tablecloth in the middle of the room. He tapped it with his wand three times, rather fussily, and it hopped into the air and then unfolded, whirling checked fabric in their faces. Sirius jumped back. When he looked down the cloth was spread and four steaming bowls of soup were set around the edges. There was even cutlery and a saltcellar.

“My gran had one of them,” James said, sliding down to lean against the wall. “Got moths in it, though. Pissed Mum off, that did. Bags me Wormtail’s.”

Sirius had already been reaching for the spare bowl. He sat back, huffing. “Beer?”

James summoned it over. For a while they devoted themselves to food. Then James asked, “How did Operation Wormtail go?”

“Ah,” Sirius said. “Well. Yeah.”

Remus grinned. “You told Pads to get Wormtail drunk and find out what he does for a living. Instead Pads got drunk and told Wormy what an important Auror he was.”

Sirius lifted his finger at him. “Don’t remember you doing much interrogating.”

“Couldn’t get a word in edgeways.”

“You’re a pair of useless sods,” James proclaimed. “In a completely non-derogatory and tolerant way, of course.”

Remus threw a peanut at him. “Did Lily give you the tolerance talk again?”

“Fuck off.”

“Jamsie’s hen-pecked,” Sirius chanted and made chicken noises. James tackled him and they went rolling across the floor. By the time Sirius was sitting on James’ back, Remus had cleared up lunch. Except for the peanuts. Sirius eyed them warily. He was hoping he could foist them on James. He still had buckets of the bloody things at home.

“Let’s have this tour then,” Remus said and James began to squirm. “Let him up, Pads.”

Sirius ignored most of James’ speech this time and split the time between watching Remus and thinking. James had bought a house. A bloody great family house. He shouldn’t be surprised. He was used to James being all responsible and serious these days. Head-boying did that to a bloke. Course, he’d been like for years, if you thought about it, in a sort-of backwards way.

A house, though. A bloody great house. Okay, _he’d_ got a flat but that was different. It was young and free and puking in the sink on Sunday mornings and waking up in the middle of the night with no one there.

“So,” Remus said, interrupting James’ floorboard spiel. “What does Lily think?”

“Ub,” said James.

Remus raised an eyebrow at Sirius. Sirius shrugged at Remus.

“Does she hate it?” he asked cautiously. The idea had all the painful fascination of two Seekers on a collision course.

James shook his head. “No. Dunno. Yeah. Um. Haven’t told her.”

“You haven’t told her?” Remus echoed blankly. “Prongs!”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Sirius demanded. Even he knew she’d be pissed off that he told them first.

“Can’t,” James said, going an odd shade of purple. “Have to ask her first.”

“Ask her what?” Remus asked.

“Ask her,” he said, going white, then red. “Ask her to – to.. Ask - _fuck!_ ” He banged his head on the wall.

“Good,” Sirius said gently. “Um, ask her to move in?”

“No,” James snapped.

Remus drew a quick breath. “You’re going to _propose_?”

James nodded speechlessly.

 _Fuck_. Sirius needed to sit down. There was adult and responsible and then there was, well, weddings. Then he thought about it again and felt the grin begin to break out of him. James and Lily – married. In this house. They’d have kids – mini Marauders to corrupt and tell about the time he tried to feed their Dad to the Giant Squid.

“Can I be best man?” he demanded in the same moment that Remus asked, “When are you going to ask? You should have done it before you bought the house, y’know.”

James slumped against the wall. “That’s just the problem,” he said miserably. “I’ve been trying since November.”

They both stared at him in silence. Then Sirius said, outraged, “She turned you down?”

“No,” James said. “I just can’t ask. I stand there and open my mouth and say something like ‘Can you pass the mustard?’ or ‘How about the Magpies for the Cup?’ I just can’t bloody say it.”

“Oh,” Remus said.

“I know it’s stupid,” James said. “And she’s beginning to look at me like she thinks I’m pranking her. I don’t bloody well know what to do.”

Remus shook his head. “Nothing obvious, I’m afraid. Let me think.”

“I could ask her for you,” Sirius offered.

James brightened.

“Bad, bad idea,” Remus said hastily.

“Really?”

“Definitely. How about writing a letter?”

“Tried. Ending up sending her six pages of Quidditch tactics.”

Remus winced. “Okay. Look, let’s see if Pete can think of anything. What’s next?”

James sighed. “I need furniture. And carpets and wallpaper and stuff. I don’t even know what yet. Want to help?”

“Can I paint the ceilings?” Sirius demanded.

Remus dug into his pocket for a pen. “Let’s make a list.”

~x~

Peter shrugged when they asked. He’d finally stumbled out of the fire just before seven, looking exhausted. Remus had asked a carefully casual question about his day and he’d shrugged and muttered something about paperwork before asking James about the house.

Now they sprawled out of the floor of the main room, not longer entirely sober. Sirius watched the bare bulb flicker above him and tried to guess how it worked. He supposed Lily would like it more than candles. It was what you were used to, really. He wondered which Remus preferred, being a halfblood.

Remus’ eyes were closed and he was snuffling slightly. Asleep, the daft fool. Sirius propped himself up on his elbow and stared at him thoughtfully. They were all a bit short on sleep, after New Year. Good thing it was the dark of the moon. It was the best time of the month, this, when Remus looked healthy and rested and happy.

James was looking at him thoughtfully. Sirius mouthed, ‘What?’ and James shrugged.

“Perhaps,” Peter said, lying with his hands folded over his belly. “Perhaps, you should just keep trying.”

“I’ve been trying for weeks.”

“No, every time you see her. Every time you start to say something to her try saying that. Eventually it’ll just pop out.”

“It’s not very romantic,” James complained.

“Neither’s never asking at all, you prat,” Peter said sleepily and then sat up. “I should get moving. Work tomorrow. And doesn’t Moony get the 7.30 Floo?”

“S’alright,” Sirius said. “If he doesn’t wake up I’ll take him home with me.”

Peter snorted. “Flung over your shoulder like a bag of potatoes?”

“I am not a bag of potatoes,” Remus said distinctly. “And I’m awake.”

The others exchanged a dubious glance.

“Yes, I am, you wankers.”

“You say that in your sleep,” Sirius pointed out and reached out cautiously. There was a huge hole in Remus’ sock, displaying a fair stretch of bony ankle. If Remus was really awake he would move.

He didn’t, and Sirius grinned and tickled him. Remus shrieked and shot up. “Bastard!”

“Told you you were asleep,” Sirius said.

Remus glared and said, “Git. Right, I’m off home. I’ll see you two tomorrow. Friday, Wormtail?”

“I should be able to make it,” Peter said. “Padfoot. Prongs.”

It wasn’t until after the fire had flared behind Peter that James said meditatively, “We still haven’t asked him what he does.”

“It’s obviously something really crap,” Sirius said. “Have you got any clean sheets I could nick?”

“Do some laundry, Padfoot.”

“Can’t. Launderette’s shut.”

“Alright, but I want them back.”

“Prongs, Prongs, Prongs. You grow cynical in your old age.”

“Padfoot, Padfoot, Padfoot. I know you.”

“Git.”

“Wanker.”

“Twat.”


	3. Now is the Winter of Our Discontent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus doesn't like commuting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got fairly creative in trying to work out how the wizarding world travels to work. This is a mix of creative interpretation and sheer invention, born of the almighty headache I got trying to make sense of it. As far as I know there ain't no such thing as a Commercial Floo. Muggle Lorry drivers did declare a strike on 3rd January 1979, though.

It was dark when Remus left home that morning and there was a fresh layer of snow on the path. The windows of the guesthouse were all still dark, though he knew his dad was up and started on breakfast. He felt the familiar pang of guilt as he left. His dad had been running The Seagull’s Rest single-handedly since Mum died and it was too much for one person. He ought to be helping. If there hadn’t been a war, he would have done. They’d have never let him on the Auror training programme if they weren’t desperate. It was his only chance and Dad had insisted he take it. He wondered sometimes if he should have argued more.

He hadn’t wanted to. He’d wanted this.

The snow creaked under his feet as he made his way out onto the road. It was snowing again, a thin whirl of flakes visible in the glow of each streetlight. He took a breath of cold air and shivered, not entirely with cold.

He could see the shadow of the sea at the end of the road, black and slick. He wasn’t close enough to see if the edges had frozen again. He shook his head, marvelling, and set off up the hill into town.

It was so quiet. The seagulls were huddled under eaves and there were no prowling cats. He couldn’t hear any cars. He glanced at the doorsteps as he passed and saw no milk had been delivered. Last week it had frozen in the bottles and they’d had to stack them by the cooker to defrost.

There were usually a few delivery lorries parked on the High Street, their engines humming warmly. Today there was nothing. That was odd. How bad was the snow over the Downs?

There were a few other commuters trailing up Lyon Street. Remus smiled at them politely but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t done to talk. There were silent rituals to commuting, an unspoken code of honour between fellow sufferers. You only spoke when things went wrong and then, only then, were you permitted to laugh and mutter and make unfunny jokes about the state of the country. When it all went back to normal, once the delays cleared, you returned to the silence behind the _Times_ and the _Prophet_.

He didn’t talk over breakfast, either. He and Dad were good at moving around each other in the kitchen, not awake enough for conversation. On days when his training was intense and Sirius was brooding he could get to noon without speaking a single word. He had never realised how addictive silence was.

Sirius was due for another brood. It had been threatening yesterday, until James’ problem pushed everything aside. It was inevitable, after New Year.

There was snow melting into the grey wool of his gloves. Remus watched it, and hunched his shoulders. The snow wouldn’t really melt around him if he let himself think of New Year’s Eve.

The memory of Sirius’ arms snaking around him as they counted down the seconds sent heat flushing through him. He could almost feel the hot press of Sirius’ mouth on his as the year changed, and the way Sirius’ hands had roamed, fast and desperate, as a flatload of drunken strangers bawled Auld Lang Syne.

And then Peter had said, “Padfoot! Moony?” and Sirius had jumped as if Moody had apparated into the middle of the flat and leapt away. He had stared at Remus and then at Peter before launching into a string of obscenties and crashing away across the flat, grabbing for the first bottle he could reach. He had downed the vodka neat, swayed for a moment, and then screamed.

Remus hadn’t been sober enough not to run away and hide in the shower.

It didn’t make sense. Sirius didn’t want him like that any more. There had been a time when that would have been every night and every excuse. Then there had been the nightmare in their Sixth year and all that followed. It had been the worst summer of his life, betrayal followed by horror as the war intensified. It had been that summer they had first heard the name Voldemort. He had forgiven Sirius on the day the Death Eaters attacked Swindon. When it came to it, Snape was alive, and Sirius was sorry and there were things that mattered more, when the world was falling apart. They had mended their friendship until it was a careful, patchwork thing, almost as good as new. All that had changed was that Sirius no longer wanted him.

Remus had tried to raise the subject, in a sideways, hinting way. Sirius would snap a refusal and then he would brood. Sirius’ broods were legendary. After James, Peter, Lily and McGonagall all offered him threats or bribes to stop provoking them, Remus had given up.

He still dreamt of Sirius. He still lusted after him, there was no point in denying it. He even still trusted him, albeit knowingly.

But Sirius didn’t want him.

Except there had been New Year and it didn’t make sense.

He trailed into the railway station, stamping the snow off his boots. The Muggle commuters headed across the echoing ticket hall, newspapers tucked under their arms. Remus wandered, seemingly without purpose, towards the permanently closed ice-cream stand on the left of the ticket hall.

Bognor Regis, like many seaside resorts, had a significant wizarding population. Many of them, like Remus, commuted into London. The public Floo left Bognor Regis station every half an hour. The 8.30 Floo was notorious for overcrowding, and for shooting commuters across the atrium of the Ministry as they arrived at the other end. The 8.00 was less busy but you could never be guaranteed a place on the grid. Remus caught the 7.30 most mornings. It was an early start, but his season ticket was much cheaper than Flooing straight from home and paying the congestion charge. Sometimes, when the streets were quiet and the sunrise reflecting in the sea, he even liked commuting.

There was a little crowd outside the ice-cream stand. Remus joined the edge and waited until he had a chance to shuffle forward. The metal door was padlocked shut and a notice was pinned to it. Those in front of him were tapping it surreptiously with their wands. Remus squinted over someone’s shoulder as he waited his turn. The note read:

 _Missing: Miss Tuftykins. Beloved family pet. Black. Answers to Tuffy. Reward offered._ There were no contact details.

He was in front of it now and he tapped quickly and watched as the letters rearranged themselves to read: _Floo service suspended until further notice. Due to Muggle Thump action, we have not received our fuel delivery and can’t get the bloody thing lit. Come back later. Yours most sincerely, Bill Watkins, caretaker (On behalf of The Management who ain’t due in ‘til nine)._

“Bloody Muggles and their thumps,” someone muttered.

“Strikes,” Remus said automatically. “They go on strike. How are we meant to get to work?”

“Apparate,” someone said wisely. “Like we did in seventy-three. You can get away from the Gents without the Muggles noticing.”

Remus groaned and moved away. He still didn’t like apparating. He always worried that he’d splinch himself, although he never had. And it took effort. He was almost seventy miles away from London. With a sigh, he headed for the loo, digging through his pocket for a Muggle coin to work the turnstile.

~x~

He was in the lecture theatre in the ministry by eight. He was always the first to arrive and he was glad of it today. He had time to get a cup of tea and save Sirius a seat while he woke up. He wrapped his hands around the paper cup and tried to inhale wakefulness with the tea fumes.

It didn’t work. He was beginning to dread the day. Auror training was tough enough when you hadn’t had to apparate to work.

A few of the others arrived. He smiled in a polite but unencouraging way. Sirius, who only lived around the corner, never arrived before nine.

His tea had cooled a little and he gulped it down. It was only the awful blend the witches in the cafeteria brewed. He shoved the empty cup aside and decided to risk sleeping until their instructor of the day arrived.

Sirius arrived at five past- nine, without a pen. Remus lent him one and continued to take notes. Long years of Mauradering meant he could do _that_ in his sleep. At lunchtime, Sirius muttered something and vanished. Remus hoped it wasn’t the first sign of a brood and stumbled downstairs in search of food.

Lily Evans was sitting alone in the corner. Remus collected his tray of _Roast Stew, assrtd_ and went to join her.

She looked up quickly as he approached and then her shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

“Hello,” Remus said. “Mind if I join you?”

“No, go ahead. Happy New Year.”

“Same to you. Where’s Prongs?”

Her lips thinned, “Twenty-seven minutes late.” She ran her hands through her hair, dislodging two quills. “I’ve got so much to do.”

“I’m sure he’s got a reason,” Remus said nervously.

“Hah.” She stared at the quills in her hands, as if wondering where they’d come from. “He’s up to something. I know it. He keeps talking about mustard.”

“Er,” Remus said and tried to change the subject. “Did you get this too? What’s in it?”

“Assorted things,” Lily snapped. “Stewed. Mine had pineapple, and some sort of fish, and curry. Are you going to tell me what he’s up to?”

Remus tried to look vague. “I don’t know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Hmm.”

“How’s work?”

“Horrible,” she said and then grinned ruefully. “Which is why I’m being such a cow. Half the stuff we see doesn’t have enough evidence and then the stuff with evidence is foul and the minister wants convictions and everything that goes wrong seems to be the fault of yours truly, the lowly clerk who’s only been doing this for six weeks.”

“Breathe.”

“Sorry. It’s fascinating and it’s awful and if I ever manage to get a grip on it, I might love it. Law is more amazing the more you know.. Listening to the Wizengamot – am I boring you?”

Remus prodded his stew again. “Sorry. Knackered.”

“Aren’t we all?” Lily smiled and he managed to grin back.

There was a faint pop and a ball of ice appeared in the air between them. A single pink flower was preserved in its heart, glittering with frost. It hovered for a moment before wobbling in the air and then crashing down on the table. The ice smashed into crystals and the flower slid out limply. There was a note attached, labelled _Lily_.

Remus recognised James’ best handwriting. Had the daft berk managed to write the question down?

Lily read the note and then sighed. Remus tensed. It hadn’t sounded like a happy sigh.

“No lunch,” she said wryly and put the note down. “He’s in Hemel Hempstead. No idea when he’ll be back. Did you see anything in the paper this morning?”

“Didn’t get one. Sorry.”

“Damn. I hope-”

“I know.” There was only one reason Obliviators were called out these days.

“Poor souls,” Lily said softly and picked up the flower, pushing the ice away from it gently.

Remus shivered and applied himself to his stew. After a moment Lily said, “Are you okay? You look awful.”

“No Floo.”

“I know. I had to catch the train up to Waterloo with Dad this morning. The lorry drivers are on strike again.”

“Had to apparate.”

“No wonder you look terrible. Are you okay to get home tonight?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Remus. You’re no good to anyone splinched.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“What about staying with Sirius?”

“Who’s staying with me?” Sirius demanded, dropping onto the empty chair. “Wotcher, Prongette.”

“Hello, Sirius, good morning. Yes, I’m very well and I had a lovely New Year, how kind of you to ask.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth. Who’s staying with me?”

“Remus.”

“No, I’m not.”

Lily glared at him and then turned to Sirius. “There’s no Floo. He’s apparating from Bognor.”

Sirius sat up. “No, he isn’t.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Am.”

“Not.”

“He said he was,” Lily interjected, gathering her quills.

“Ah,” Sirius said, holding up a finger, “but, as you so sagely pointed out, o wise and wondrous one, he is in fact staying with me. So he can’t be apparating from Bognor.”

“I am not staying with you.”

“Yes, you are,” Sirius said flatly.

Lily stood up. “Fight nicely, children. Some of us have work to do.”

She took her flower with her.


	4. Our Bruised Arms Hung Up For Monuments

There was no tea in Sirius’ flat.

It was still dark and the striplight in the ceiling was buzzing like a sick billywig. Remus stared at the empty cupboard. Then, his hand shaking slightly, he ran his hand along the shelf, just in case Sirius had had a bad day and turned it invisible.

No tea. Not even some cheap supermarket blend. It wasn’t that he was expecting Sirius to have a proper selection. He wasn’t even hoping for Earl Grey or Lapsang Souchong or the awful weak Russian stuff his Aunt Amelia drank. But there was no tea at all.

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. Tea wasn’t the only thing Sirius’ flat lacked. There were no clean sheets, no milk that wasn’t off, no bread, no forks ( _”Spoons do fine, Moony, mate.”_ ), no exposed pieces of carpet, no non-sticky surfaces and, as he had just discovered, no hot water in the shower.

Fine.

There was a corner shop and he was sure they opened early. They certainly opened late – he had nipped in there for booze on the way to parties before. Grumpily, he shuffled his shoes on and went to search for his coat. He had no idea where Sirius kept his spare key and he didn’t care. The bastard would just have to be awake by the time he got back.

Luckily, the shop was open and the sleepy teenager behind the till gave him a friendly smile and a puzzled look when he put down the box of PG Tips and a paper. Remus managed to smile and say thank you. It was cold out and the streets were quiet, apart from the delivery vans trundling towards Berwick Market and up into Chinatown. A few homeless men were wedged into doorways but they were still asleep under their layers of cardboard. Remus looked at them and shuddered. There had been times in wizarding history when that would have been the only future open to a werewolf. Of course, these days he wasn’t likely to live that long.

It might be time to remind himself that he now possessed tea. The world wasn’t a wholly bad place. It would probably also be good to remember that Sirius was doing him a favour in letting him stay while the Floo was suspended.

Winter of bloody Discontent, his arse.

He rang the doorbell and waited for Sirius, who was probably only just awake, to open the door.

No response so he rang again.

Still nothing. His ankles were freezing. Had he forgotten to put socks on?

This time he leant on the bell until he heard Sirius swearing on the other side of the door. It cracked open and he stopped ringing.

“Who is it?” Sirius demanded suspiciously.

“Me.”

“No, it’s not. You’re asleep on my sofa.”

“I woke up. Your sofa smells like dog sick.”

The door slams shut. After a moment it opened a crack again. “Say something only I know.”

“The reason McGonagall always knew when you’d copied my essays? It was because it was the only time you spelled Transfiguration right.”

The door opened all the way and Sirius, blinked at him. He was only wearing an old pair of jeans and his hair was still stuck to his cheek. “What you doing outside, you daft wanker? You were inside when I went to sleep. And why are still wearing your pajamas?”

Bugger. That would explain the funny looks. Remus gathered his dignity and pushed inside. “You’ve run out of tea.”

The sleepiness was burnt away by indignation. “I have not. I _never_ run out of tea.”

“Then you’ve hidden it well.”

Sirius slammed the door behind him and rushed into the kitchen, hiking his jeans up. Remus fixed his eyes firmly on the back of his neck and followed. He was not supposed to be interested in what Sirius wore, or in this case, didn’t wear, under his jeans. He had drawn a line, a long time ago.

Sirius flung the cupboard open. “Ta-da. There! You see – bugger.”

Remus raised an eyebrow.

Sirius glanced over him, dismayed. “I’ve been burgled! Robbed of my most precious commodity!”

Remus was already filling the kettle. “Right.”

“I had tea. I even had that weird lumpy leaf stuff you like.”

“Maybe someone smoked it at New Year.”

Sirius sighed heavily. “Maybe. Drunken bastards. Don’t even know who they were. Hang on – no. We had tea for breakfast that day. Wormtail made it.”

“You probably used it all up and forgot to buy more. Teapot?”

“Right he- bugger. Uh, I’ll make breakfast, shall I?”

“There’s no bread.”

“I told you I’d been robbed.”

Remus shook tea leaves into his mug and prepared to drink through his teeth.

“I’ve got Frosties.”

“No milk.”

“Pillaged!”

And here at last was the smell of tea. Remus crouched over his mug and breathed in, ignoring Sirius. Tea. Beautiful, fragrant tea. His tea.

“Moony?”

That was hesistant Sirius which meant he ought to listen. He drew his tea closer, just in case, and said, “Mmm?”

“If I promised to never, ever run out of tea, would you-”

“No.” Not this again.

“You don’t know what I was going to ask.”

“No, Sirius, I won’t move in with you.”

“Why not? You’re living here today? Why not live here the rest of the time?”

“I’m staying here because the commercial Floo is down and we can’t afford to pay the congestion charge for me to use the one at home. I have somewhere to live, Sirius. I live with my Dad. In Bognor.”

“But you hate commuting.”

Remus very pointedly began to do the crossword. Sirius snarled and pulled the paper out of his hands. Remus found his wand and murmured, “ _Accio_ newspaper.”

It came and Sirius came with it to loom over him. Remus pretended he wasn’t there and sipped his tea thoughtfully. Sirius loomed more purposefully. Remus filled in _one, down_. Sirius sat on the paper.

Remus set his tea down. “Look, we’ve discussed this before-”

A trumpet sounded and the doors of the clock crashed open. Seven mechanical dwarve burst out on springs, crashing symbols together and singing, “Hi, ho, hi, ho. Off to work you go!”

“Shit!” Sirius said, leaping up. “I’m going to be late again.”

“What the fuck is that?” He’d splashed tea all over the crossword.

“Christmas present from Nym!” Sirius yelled. “I think Meda chose it, though. It means it’s twenty to nine.”

Remus choked on his tea and raced into the main room to work out which pile his clothes were on.

Five minutes later they were sprinting down Charing Cross Road. Sirius, who Remus suspected did this every morning, seemed to have an unfair amount of breath left as he called, “See, you wouldn’t have to pay anything to commute if you were with me. You could walk to work.”

“Like we’re walking right now?” Remus panted.

“Absolutely. The rent’s really low, too.”

That wasn’t a surprise.

“Loads of great pubs round here.”

That explained New Year’s Eve.

“And there’s enough takeaways that we can eat something different every night.”

“What’s – ooff – wrong with cooking?”

Sirius cast him an incredulous look.

They turned down a side road and Remus looked around carefully. He didn’t usually approach by land and he wasn’t too sure where the entrance was from here. For the lack of a safer plan, he followed Sirius.

The bells of St Paul’s in Covent Garden began to ring nine. Sirius swerved into an alley opposite the back of the church and clattered up a fire-escape, marked with a battered sign reading, ‘Tradesman’s Entrance.’ Halfway up the steps, Remus felt his stomach spin and his feet swing into the air.

A few moments later he crashed to the floor in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

“Right,” Sirius said. “Sorry. Takes a bit of getting used to, that.”

Remus scrabbled to his feet and said, “Warning appreciated.”

Sirius grinned sheepishly and said, “Come on. We can still make it.”

They raced up the stairs to the fourth floor and Sirius dived for the door marked _Auror Training_ , neatening his hair. Remus leapt after him. If they were lucky whoever was giving today’s training would be running late.

An enormous invisible hand punched him in the ribs, hurling him back against the doors. Then it grabbed him and he felt his stomach churn as he was pulled through the air. When he could breathe again he found himself dangling upside-down above the stage, his robes around his face. Something had him by the ankles and he began to wriggle, trying to squirm free.

Then he heard the voice of Alastor Moody beside his ear. “And as I have here a practical object lesson, would anyone care to remind Mr Black and Mr Lupin why they are useless little shits who’d be dead after ten minutes in the field?”

As one, the voices of their fellow trainees, droned, “Constant Vigilance.”

“ _Constant Vigiliance!_ ” Moody roared and prodded Remus’ ear with his wand. “Volunteer required! Today you’ll practising your _incarcerous_ on Black and Lupin. Remember – you can’t just catch the bastards. You have to keep ‘em, too. Any questions?”

Remus bit back a groan. It was obviously going to be one of those days. He hadn’t even managed to finish his tea.


	5. Our Stern Alarums Changed to Merry Meetings

Moony and Wormtail were going to die, the skiving traitors. Die in slow and painful ways. Padfoot had suggested barbequing but James wanted something less prosaic. Something grand.

He kicked his wellies off by the back door and stuck his head back out into the night. It was snowing again. “Get a move on!”

Sirius answered him with a string of obscenities, ending with, “And my toes are going to burst. You’ll have toe goo all over your ruddy garden.”

“It’s not my fault you don’t own a pair of wellies, city boy.”

“We’re not all country bumpkins,” Sirius muttered as he hobbled through the door. James’ dad’s wellies were far too small for him. “And it was your idea to portkey all your furniture into the garden shed.”

James shrugged. “Didn’t want to mess up the walls inside.”

“But we had to carry it in,” Sirius said, with the edge of a whine. “And I’m hungry.”

“Not my fault. Bloody wankers.”

“Bastards,” Sirius said with feeling.

They’d dumped most of the furniture in the living room to sort later but there were a couple of battered chairs in here. James dropped into one with a groan. It creaked under him dangerously but held. Amazing the stuff his parents kept in the attic.

“Your mum could have given us food,” Sirius said, hopping. “Ow, ow, ow. My toes.”

“Can’t blame her for not wanting you in the kitchen without fair warning.”

“I only blew it up once.”

“I think,” James said, feeling wise, “that as far as kitchens go, once is enough.”

“Hmph. Bastards.”

James nodded sleepily. His back ached from lugging furniture across the dark garden. And, yeah, fine, Remus probably should have gone home while the Floo was up, but Peter ought to be here. It was Friday night and Friday night was Curry night and should be sacred. What sort of bloody Maurauders were they, moaning about being overworked?

“Need curry. Currry. Beeeer.”

“Beer in fridge. Curry not here.”

“Curry!” Sirius lowed, treading slush across the floor.

James shot upright. “Boots! Off!” He wasn’t letting Sirius Black muck up his house before Lily had even seen it.

Sirius scowled. “I can’t get them off. They’re stuck. I shall be wearing wellies for the rest of my life.”

“The Auror in Red Wellies,” James said, warming to the theme. “Like John Steel and his umbrella.”

“You what?”

On second thoughts, there probably hadn’t been much Muggle culture in the House of Black. “Buy a television, Padfoot.”

“I did,” Sirius said gloomily, sitting on the worktop and shaking his feet in the air. “The elektrissummy ate it.”

James opened his mouth to ask and then thought better of it. Electricity was a peculiar thing.

The red welly went flying across the kitchen, spraying out half-melted snow. James howled and dived after it before it hit his pristine yellow walls. Sirius whooped and shook his other leg like Padfoot after a swim. The other welly slammed past James’ head and he swore and grabbed it.

“Git. For that you’re making the tea. And Flooing out for the curry.”

Sirius muttered but filled the kettle up and started banging through cupboards in search of tea. James sat back with a sigh of relief. The weekend. Finally the weekend. For a three day week it had been far too shitty. Okay, he’d spent New Year’s Eve smuggled into Lily’s bed, trying not to wake her parents up. But then he’d gone and blurted out, “Will you m-meet the walrus?” just as they were falling asleep and he’d had to fly home alone. Then there had been Hemel Hempstead on Wednesday. Nobody had died that time, thank Merlin, but the fires had still been smouldering. He hated it, trying to soothe the Muggles who didn’t know why their homes were burning and their neighbours had fled in the night. Sometimes, when he whispered the words and the knowledge faded from their faces, he envied them. He had no way to forget.

He wanted Lily here. He never wanted to stand in her front drive and cast the spell to make her parents forget they’d ever had a younger daughter. He wanted her safe and-

“Son-of-a-bitch! Potter, you bastard!”

He blinked as Sirius whirled to glare at him, bright with rage.

“My teapot! My _tea!_. You stole my fucking tea!”

He had. Sirius had a whole cupboard of the stuff. “You don’t like tea. Didn’t think you’d miss it.”

“It’s for guests!” Sirius snapped.

“All twenty boxes?”

“Yes!” Sirius was still glaring at him murderously.

James blinked. “Isn’t that taking the perfect host thing too far?”

“No.”

He hesitated. The daft bastard was actually upset. “You can take it back.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Why?”

Sirius glared and then turned away, crashing purloined mugs together dangerously.

“Padfoot?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Pads.”

“S’Moony’s tea, alright? And he had to go out and buy some yesterday ‘cause some thieving git had nicked it.”

“You keep a whole cupboard of tea just for Moony?”

 _Clatter, clatter, thump_ The kettle was beginning to squeal.

James winced. Together with what Peter had said about New Year – damn. Bloody Sirius and his bloody complications.

“I thought you two weren’t doing that any more?”

“We’re not.”

“Right. So just being friendly.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a cupboard full of chocolate hobnobs for Wormy?”

Sirius glared at him. “No.”

“So?”

“Fuck off, Potter.”

“It’s my house,” James said and couldn’t bite back the grin. He had a house.

“I’m getting curry.”

James looked at him and decided not to push. He was too tired for explosions. “Got any Muggle money?”

“I’ve got two beardy blokes, the dumpy bird and the old geezer in the pointy hat.”

“Have they all got recent dates?” Sirius was still a little hazy on the difference between paper money and chocolate frog cards.

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead. There’s one down the end of the road, if you need a walk.”

With Sirius gone, James slumped back in his chair. He probably ought to move some furniture. Get the bed upstairs at least. Course, he’d have to hang some curtains first or the Muggle neighbours might get suspicious.

Alternatively, he could stay in this nice comfy chair and admire his kitchen. He had a whole kitchen all of his own. A yellow kitchen. Did Lily like yellow? Should he repaint it?

To stop worrying, he considered Sirius. He’d assumed the days of Sirius-and-Remus were all but forgotten. The Prank had killed it. He wasn’t sure which of them had been damaged more. Remus had almost slipped away from them, into that friendless, self-contained silence he had occupied during their first weeks at Hogwarts. Sirius had raged, turning on himself until he could no longer bear to be human. Then they had been friends again and nothing more and everything had been, more-or-less, back to normal.

But Sirius kept a whole cupboard of tea in his flat.

He’d always thought Remus was rather wistful about the whole thing. Sirius had seemed fine, though. Angry but fine. Though if what Peter said was right, he was still angry. Just not fine.

James sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He needed to talk to Lily about it. She understood Remus better than he did. There was no point pushing Sirius until he had some idea what Remus felt. If he pushed Sirius, Sirius would do something and James didn’t know if Remus wanted something to be done. Stupid git.

Both of them. And Peter, too, come to think of it, sneaking off to his job and never telling them anything about it. Anyone would think-

James sat up. He had it. He’d worked out what Peter did.

He said as much to Sirius when the other boy came crashing back in.

“Yeah?” Sirius asked, dumping the foil containers in front of them. He plonked two cans of beer in the centre of the table and slid into the seat opposite. “First one to drink’s a girl.”

“You’re on.” It would be a decent contest this time. Peter always lost when they were all here. Remus, the bugger, always won.

Sirius dug his fork in, eyes gleaming. James had a nasty feeling he had dared the people in the takeaway to make it really hot again. “So?” he asked. “What do you reckon?”

“Paperwork,” James said solemnly. “Nothing weird about that, right? So it must be where he’s working.” He took a careful mouthful. Holy _fuck_.

“Too hot?” Sirius said, shovelling another mouthful in.

“Mild, mate. Mild.”

“See, I knew you weren’t up for a real challenge. Told them to take it easy on you.”

“You’re just too scared yourself. You know I am the man.”

“You’re a girl. Jamesina in a pretty frock. Thirsty yet?”

“No. Your throat feeling dry?”

“Couldn’t touch a drop.” His eyes were watering, though.

James swallowed and thought of Lily. This was honour. “So, Peter, yeah?”

“Yeah?” Sirius’ eyes were beginning to cross.

“Know what I reckon?”

“Nah.”

“Strip joint.”

Sirius choked on his curry. Then, with a howl of agony, he grabbed his beer. “Gond ub by nose. Ah. Ah. Ah.” He gulped beer down, eyes streaming.

“Who’s a pretty girl, then? Dear little Siria. Got a pretty dress?”

“You fucker.”

“Siria and Peter up a tree-”

And, like Curry Night ought to, it ended in violence.


	6. In deadly hate, the one against the other (1/3)

The Dark Mark still hung in the air over the farmhouse, tainting the night green. It reflected in Remus’ mousy hair and in the whites of his eyes. Sirius hunched his shoulders and stamped his feet. The snow was beginning to freeze solid.

The air was full of smoke, green and sulphurous. The farmhouse was still burning, great gouts of flame that wouldn’t go out. One of the first Aurors on the scene had got too close. Sirius had helped get him to the portkey to St Mungo’s, his leg still on fire.

There was a Muggle woman sitting on a tree stump, on the other side of the garden, wailing and rocking as she stared at the ruins of her home. James Potter was crouched beside her, talking gently. She wouldn’t look at him.

“She had three kids,” Remus said suddenly. It was the first thing he’d said since he apparated into the area, summoned, like Sirius, from his bed. “And there were two boys, as well, in the other family. Yarwood.”

“Ravenclaw,” Sirius said automatically.

The stars were out, though he could barely see them through the smoke. He could see the moon, though, a pale, dead sliver in the dark of the night. The air was still, so still he could hear every crack and pop of the fire. Under it all was the stealthy sigh of the sea, sliding onto the shore half a mile away. There was a green hum to the air, under the sulphur, of salt and marsh and fen.

He needed to move. He needed to do something. Not just stand here and watch.

“Patience,” Remus said warningly.

Sirius shrugged again, feeling the scratchy wool of his Gryffindor scarf brush his chin. “Term starts on Monday.”

“Yeah.” Remus tucked his hands under his arms and stared up at the moon. Sirius knew he was thinking of empty places at long tables; of the whisper of names as each day began, the long lists of the lost.

Why the fuck were they just standing here? Moody had told them to wait for orders. Had he forgotten they were there?

Someone came jogging over towards them, a shadow figure against the snow, hands cupped around a cigarette. As the tip flared, Sirius recognised his cousin’s husband.

Ted nodded to them sharply. “Alright, Sirius? Lupin.”

“Evening,” Sirius said. “Don’t let Meda know you’re back on those.”

Ted snorted. “Desperate times, mate.” Then he stared up at the leering skull and said, “Fuck.”

“What’s going on?” Sirius asked. Technically, Ted was too high-up to ask but family was family.

“The usual. Getting statements. Trying to work out how the fuckers found him. Trying to get a decent description from the Muggles before the Obliviators take over. Your mate’s a help.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said proudly. “Anything we can do?”

“Hang tight. They always play it safe when they call these in. In case they’re still here.” He glared out at the bare fields. “Bastards. They knew something. They must have.”

“Why?” Remus asked, huddling into his coat. It was the same one he’d had since fifth year, Sirius noted, and it was wearing thin at the elbows.

Ted glanced at them, his face tight. “Damn. You’re too new. Yarwood was one of us. Took apart the Hexcombe Coven back in June.” He flicked ash onto the trodden snow. “Been in hiding even since, him and Ruth. Muggleborn, both of them. Fuckers.”

James rose from his crouch and loped toward them, his breath pale clouds in the cold night. His face was grim, ash smeared into the lines of his frown and smudged across his glasses. “Auror Tonks?”

“Yeah?”

“One of the Yarwood kids might have got away.”

Ted straightened at once, unfolding from his slouch. “Go on.”

“Mrs Jowell saw it. She’s confused, though, and she doesn’t know much about magic. She said, ‘I saw Stevie, oh, god, poor little Stevie, blasted out the hayloft. He was still holding that broom they liked to mess with. Oh,God, oh, God, the children. It was as if he was flying.’ Then she broke down again. We won’t get anything more from her.” His voice had taken on the Norfolk accent of the farmer’s wife as he spoke. Sirius, who had seen him make more creative use of that gift for mimicry, shuddered.

Ted dropped his cigarette, grinding it out against the snow. “Thin chance.”

“Steven Yarwood,” James said simply. “Ravenclaw Chaser. Fast little bastard.”

Ted whistled. “Right. Good work, mate. Where’s the rest of your team?”

“Clean-up,” James said shortly, not looking at any of them. Beside Sirius, Remus shivered, a sharp jerk of motion.

Ted was already striding away, whipping his head round to look for someone. The burning house made him cast a long shadow.

“Best get after him,” Remus said and James nodded and went.

Sirius turned his back on the house and glared out over the fields. There was a long line of trees running down towards the sea, bone black and bare. There were shadowy ditches, like lines of the face of the earth. Somewhere out there could be a kid who’d just lost everything. He remembered Steven Yarwood, a smart-mouthed little third-year with a nose too long for his face, and a knack for turning 360° in mid-air. Was he in the air now, still fleeing, or had he gone to ground? Or was he dead, like the rest of them, crashed against the hard earth somewhere in the trees beyond the house?

He was shifting on his heels. It was time to move, long past that time.

“Down, boy,” Remus muttered.

Moody was coming towards them, James and Ted at his heels. “Black!” he barked.

“Sir?” Sirius said, remembering just in time not to make it sarcastic.

“You can fly, can’t you?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Don’t try to be clever, you little shit. Get in the air. Lupin, you’re on ground. Black, shadow him from above. Head north-west along the coast. You’re looking for the kid but watch yourselves. Fuckers might still be out there. _Constant Vigilance._ What the fuck are you waiting for?”

“A broom,” Sirius said.

Moody looked at him with slow disdain. “Jones had them. Get moving. You! Obliviator! Why the fuck is this place still burning?”

Abandoning James, Sirius loped over and collected a broom from Hestia Jones. She smiled at him from under her scarf, a thin-lipped, weary flicker. He winked at her and jogged back to meet Remus, who already had his wand out.

Sirius held his own out towards Remus and they both murmured, “Coaudio.” A little red spark leapt between their wands. Then Sirius slung himself over the broom, soaring into the cold night. He paused to hover about twenty metres up, high enough to see anyone approaching them but low enough to dive to the rescue. Around him other Aurors were rising, their wands glimmering faintly with the communication spell. He was pleased to see they all chose a similar height. He wasn’t as daft as Moody thought.

“You in position?” Remus said. His voice sounded thin and tinny coming from the end of Sirius’ wand.

Sirius looked down. He could see the top of Remus’ head and grinned as Remus looked up, his face a pale flash against his dark coat, breath pluming around him. “I’m right on top of you, mate.”

Remus snorted and set off towards the sea, setting a slow pace. Sirius drifted above him, scanning the land below.

“How far do you think he could get?”

“Depends. Been three hours or so. In a straight line – could be somewhere over the Wash by now. If he’s doubling back, no idea. Depends if he’s scared. Or hurt.”

“Or under _Imperio_ ,” Remus said grimly. “Or the traitor.”

“You’re a cheery one.”

“Think of all possibilities.”

They’d reached the beach now and Remus paused. Sirius thought he was squinting north and said, “Clear as far as I can see.”

“Might be a long night.”

“Better get moving then, mate. Before our bits freeze off. Fucking freezing up here.”

“Not much better down here.” Remus sounded tense, despite the banter.

Sirius, who fancied he could feel the green heat at his back, understood. “Let’s go,” he said. “Let’s go.”


	7. In deadly hate, the one against the other (2/3)

By the time the night greyed into pale dawn Sirius hurt with the cold. Below him, Remus had fallen silent, plowing doggedly along the snowy beach. The mists gathered across the flat fields, rising off the sea in glittering banks. The sun, rising over the dark water, was red and heavy, its light bleeding through the clouds.

Sirius scanned the ground, looking for trouble and hoping for the signal summoning them back to the farm. He wanted to go home. The emptiness of the air and the unending sweep of the flat fields were leaching into him. He felt laid bare before the angry dawn. He didn’t want to look on his soul in this cold light. It was too much of a red and angry thing, too malformed for the clarity of day.

He preferred to live behind the mask. The mask could pretend to be a hero. The mask could pretend to be gallant and rebellious and outrageous. The mask didn’t fight those instincts that demanded he judge by blood and birth. When the mask laughed and smiled with Muggleborns, it was truth, not rigorously enforced decision. The mask didn’t sometimes find it easier to talk to Andromeda or Felix Peverell rather than Lily or Ted, just because they _understood._ The mask wasn’t a Black.

Remus had told him once that Black was one of the hundred most common Muggle surnames. He’d laughed at the time but he wondered at it now. Could he claim to be a Muggleborn, unfortunately named? Would anyone believe him?

He doubted it. He knew his manners were too Pureblood. He could feel himself doing it, when the whispers and raised eyebrows were too much. He was Black to the bone, Black-hearted, full of Black-intent, Black-tempered-

“Are you brooding?” Remus’s voice was light but he could hear the concern, even through the distortion of the communication spell.

He grunted.

“Sirius?”

“No.” All anyone really needed to do was look at what he’d done to Remus. Then they’d know it was all a sham.

“I shall be forced to desperate measures.”

“I’m fine.”

“What’s white and goes up?”

“What?”

“A confused snowflake. How did the snowman get to work?”

“Remus.”

“On his icicle.”

Sirius winced.

“Who hides in the kitchen at Christmas?”

“No more.”

“A mince spy. I can keep going for hours. My dad collects the jokes out the crackers.”

It really wasn’t fair. Everyone went on at him to think more and now, when he was thinking, Remus wouldn’t let him.

“Why are Christmas trees like bad knitters?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. Fine. “I don’t know. Why?”

“They both drop their needles.”

Sirius groaned. “Whole fucking flat’s full of them. Bloody Christmas. Chucked all the decorations away today. Bloody flat.”

Remus sighed. “What did the big candle say to the little candle?”

“I have no fucking idea.”

“I’m going out tonight.”

Sirius winced. “Look, mate, I swear to you that I’m not brooding. Promise.”

“Talk to me, then.”

Sirius considered. “You staying at mine tonight?”

“Sirius,” Remus huffed.

“Be sensible. We’re both going to be knackered by the time we get back to London. Not worth apparating home just to come back tomorrow morning.”

“Dad needs my help.”

“You can only do one job at a time, mate.”

“I know,” Remus said miserably.

Sirius sighed and they continued in silence. Above him the clouds were beginning to layer over the sea. Oh, Merlin, let someone find the kid before it started snowing again.

In front of them, a long avenue of trees led up from the shore. There was a boathouse there and a landing stage, both obviously long abandoned. At the end of the avenue he could see the ruins of a house, walls blackened by fire.

“Moony.”

He saw Remus look up, batting his hair out his eyes with gloved hands. Sirius pointed and Remus turned his head to look that way.

“Worth a look?” Sirius asked.

“I think so. Carefully, though. There could be anyone hidden in there.”

The avenue was overgrown and the bare branches criss-crossed overhead. Up here, Sirius couldn’t see through them. The mist had gathered around the trees and lingered in the dark furrows of the fields.

“Talk to me,” Sirius said grimly. “I can’t see you. If you stop talking I’m coming down.”

Remus’ head bobbed and he held his wand out, squinting down the avenue. “What shall we talk about?”

“Something cheerful,” Sirius suggested, without much hope. “Quidditch.”

“Quidditch talk means you talk and I nod occasionally. Not what you had in mind, I believe.”

“Quidditch is the game of kings, mate.”

“Shame we’re a pair of old queens, then.”

Sirius cackled which made him feel better. “I can just see you in a pink feather boa, mate.”

“I’m going to get Lily to give _you_ the tolerance talk.”

Sirius cackled again. “Did I tell you what James thought about Peter?”

“Three times.”

“What do you reckon?”

“Honestly? I just think he’s got some really shit job. He’s probably cleaning pub floors and doesn’t want to tell us.”

“I like the strip club more.”

“You would.”

“Any sign of anything?”

“No. Anything up there?”

“Not a soul in sight. Fuckers.” Seven people were dead. He probably knew the people who’d held the wands. They’d probably sat at his table.

“Bastards,” Remus replied and then cleared his throat. “Um. What chance the Magpies, then?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about Quidditch?”

“Can’t think of anything else.”

That wasn’t right. Surely he and Remus talked about things. Course, James and Peter were usually around. “Why won’t you move in with me?”

“Sirius, I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

“We’ve never actually had this conversation,” Sirius said, sticking one gloved hand into his armpit for warmth. “You always stop it before it starts.”

“That’s because there’s nothing to talk about. I have somewhere to live.”

“Living with me would be better.”

“I don’t need to live with you.”

“Why not?” He regretted the question as soon as he thought about it.

“Sirius. Look, I live with my dad. He needs my help.”

“You can’t be doing much,” Sirius said stubbornly. “You leave before its light and you don’t get home until after dark, and, unless you’ve got a bloody Time Turner, you must be sleeping all weekend because I know I am. How much do you actually do in the B and B?”

“Not enough,” Remus said. “And I’m not proud of that.”

“Then stop trying,” Sirius said, frustrated. “Move in with me and send home the money you don’t spend on travel because you’ll be able to walk to work.”

“I won’t save anything,” Remus said shortly. “I don’t have to pay rent at home.”

“You don’t have to – never mind. Why do you still support the Magpies? They’re crap.”

Remus paused for a moment, and Sirius tensed on his broom, preparing to dive. Then Remus said, “Their Keeper has a nice arse.”

Sirius thought about it. “Fair point.” The avenue was coming to an end below them and a wide drive opened out before the ruins. The snow was criss-crossed with the tips of grass. The whole place was a wreck.

Good hiding place, though.

“Can you see anything up there?”

He stared around. The light was still thin and grey but it was obvious they were the only people for miles. Unless someone was hiding in the ruin. “Not a soul in sight.”

“Get down here, then. I’m going inside.”

Sirius floated down, dismounting beside Remus, who had shoved his hands in his pockets and was studying the ground.

“Hello,” Sirius said.

Remus blinked at him soberly and then flashed him a quick smile. “Hello. No footprints.”

Sirius shrugged. “He’d be flying.”

“Let’s go, then.”

They squeezed through the empty doorframe. The inside of the ruin was mostly open to the sky and the low walls were softened by a covering of snow. Towards the back of the house the first floor was still intact, through the floor had crumbled in the corner, knocking open the lower walls.

“Could be bears in there,” Sirius muttered into Remus’ ear. He could see his breath fluttering around the side of Remus’ cheek, like the mist around the trees.

“No bears in England, Padfoot,” Remus murmured. “But look.”

He pointed and Sirius saw a twig caught in the stones above the opening. The wood was pale and no snow had gathered on it. “Willow,” he breathed. “Yarwood flies a Swiftstick V, right? Willow and elder, them.”

Remus turned his head, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I don’t have quite your expertise.”

“Why we’re a good team, mate. Shall we go in?”

“No. He might not be the only one with that broom. Cover my back.” He slipped away before Sirius could protest, moving through the shadows until he stood just outside the gap. Then he called softly, “Steven?”

Sirius held his breath. There was a no sound, just the heavy silence of snow.

Remus drew a breath and spoke again, using what Sirius thought of as his prefect voice. “Steven, it’s Remus Lupin. From Gryffindor. We’re here to help.”

Still no reply and Remus sent an worried look at Sirius. Sirius shrugged and padded closer, holding his wand tightly in one hand and his broom loosely in the other. Remus held his hand up suddenly, lips tightening, and Sirius stopped dead. He heard the rattle of loose stones, suddenly curtailed, as if someone was shuffling deeper into cover.

“That’s Sirius Black,” Remus said, still soothingly. “He’s here with me. I’m sure you remember him.”

“I remember him, the little bugger,” Sirius said cheerfully. “After that trick he pulled off in the last match.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Was that the one where you oh-so-accidently chased a Bludger into the Slytherin stand?”

“Time honoured tradition, mate. Ravenclaw are up against Slytherin next, right, Yarwood? Maim a few snakes for my sake, yeah?”

There was another shuffle but whoever was in there stayed silent. Sirius really hoped it wasn’t a Death Eater, luring them into false complacency. He padded forward to join Remus, glancing around, watching for any warning flicker of movement. What if the kid was hurt?

“Steven,” Remus said. “I’m coming in.”

Sirius tensed but shoved his shoulder against the wall and kept watching. Fucking silence. It wasn’t like Hogwarts snow. There he could have filled the emptiness of the morning with noise; dragged everyone and their brother into a mock war of snowballs and breathless battle. This was a real war, though, and he had to listen.

Remus stepped into the doorway and a shrill, young voice said, “Stop! I’ll kill you. I will. I know the Killing Curse. I do.”

“I’ve stopped,” Remus said calmly as Sirius fought the urge to shove him somewhere safer. “We’ve come to help you, Steven. We’re Aurors.”

“I don’t believe you. You’re them. You were chasing me.”

 _Fuck_.

“No, we’re not, Steven. We’re from the Ministry. Can you tell me about the people who chased you?”

Every shadow suddenly seemed dangerous. Too much mist, slithering around the far side of the ruin. Why couldn’t the sun burn it away?

“Why should I? You’re one of them.”

“I promise we’re not. By Godric’s sword. Your dad managed to get word to the Ministry.”

“My dad’s dead.” The boy’s voice soared defiantly.

“Yes,” Remus said gently. “But we got his warning.”

“You’re not fucking Aurors, then. The Aurors would have come on time.”

A shadow flickered to his right and Sirius whirled, wand stabbing out.

It was a crow, rising from the black spars of the trees, cawing contempuously.

“I’m sorry,” Remus says and he sounds like he means it which Sirius never can, even when he does. The sneer is written into his blood.

More crows, spilling out from the same tree. He glared that way. What had startled them?

“I’m going to make a light, Steven, so you can see I’m who I say I am.”

“I know about polyjuice.”

“Why would anyone polyjuice into me?” Remus said cheerfully. “Wouldn’t be much use.”

 _I’d polyjuice into you,_ Sirius thought fiercely and then realised it was the stupidest declaration he’d ever thought. There were shadows in the mist to his right, the other side of the house from the crows. Had they been there all along?

“ _Illumino_ ,” Remus said and his wand sparkled with a circle of white light, glowing in the grey morning.

Green light flashed to his left and Sirius howled and leapt forward, knocking Remus down.

The spell hit the bricks above them and they blanched white and crumbled like salt. Sirius rolled them inside, swearing. Remus was hot beneath him and for a moment his hands tangled in Sirius’ coat but then he was shoving free, flattening himself against the side of the gap. Sirius took the other side, peering warily into the fog, his breath still coming fast. Behind him, in the shadows, he could see a pale blur of freckled face and striped pajamas. Steven Yarwood.

“It’s them,” he said, choking. “It’s them.”

“Too fucking right,” Sirius muttered. Where were the bastards?

“Language,” Remus said.

Sirius squinted at him incredulously.

“We need help,” Remus said and frowned. Then, very softly, he murmured, “ _Expecto patronum_.”

The Patronus formed slowly, as if out of the mist itself, the dog, the stag, the rat, linked by flowing ribbons. The dog pressed low against the ground and the stag dipped his antlers for the rat to climb up. Then they shimmered into the mist, almost invisible.

Sirius, who still felt a hot burst of pride every time he saw Remus’ Patronus, grinned savagely and then muttered, “ _Expecto patronum_.”

The lion reared out of the mist, shaking its mane out, and began to pace across the doorway, baring its teeth at the line of trees in a silent snarl.

“Good thinking,” Remus murmured.

“Don’t let the shock kill you.”

“You are, then,” Yarwood said shrilly. “You are.” He was shaking, long shivers which sent crumbling plaster skittering down the walls. “You can’t fake a patronus.”

When had Yarwood seen their Patronuses? After a moment, it came back to him. “Oh, yeah. The pogrebin in the changing rooms. Little git in Hufflepuff brought it back as a souvenir.”

Yarwood made a little choking sound and then burst into tears. Remus murmured, “Stay here,” and padded over to him. Sirius heard him say something gentle and hunched his shoulders. He was no good at comforting the young.

His Patronus was still pacing. He couldn’t see anything through the mist and couldn’t hear over the boy’s harsh sobs. Would it be heartless to tell him to keep it down?

The lion stilled and then turned, crouching down, as if to spring. Sirius said, “Hush!”

A shadowy figure emerged around the corner of the building. His robes hung straight and limp in the still air, and he was hooded and masked, his whole body a shapeless mass of dark fabric. He stepped forward softly, his head turned towards the Patronus.

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Sirius called from the shelter of the shadows, wishing his voice sounded ten years older. “I can see you and you can’t see me.”

The figure stiffened at the sound of his voice, swinging to face him. His robes swirled around him and Sirius saw the heels of his boots. Black leather, tooled and edged with silver. Expensive boots.

The Death Eater didn’t speak but after a moment he backed into the mist.

Sirius’ wand hand was shaking and he dug his other hand into the gaps between the bricks, desperate for steadiness. He could hear the rough pant of his own breathing.

“Sirius?”

“He’s gone,” Sirius said shortly, watching his Patronus shake out its mane and yawn lazily. “He’s gone.”

He recognised those boots. He’d had a pair just like them once.

Shadows swept across the ground and he tensed. Then he heard the soft pop of apparation from the mist and looked up.

Aurors were circling above, wands pointed towards the fog.

Moody was stumping towards them all too soon. Remus, who had handed Yarwood over to the healers, came and stood at his shoulder.

“Are you alright?” he said softly.

Sirius bared his teeth in a smile. “Yeah. Great, mate. We won, right.”

“Black. Lupin. See any of them?”

“One,” Sirius said.

“Recognise him?”

Sirius shrugged and shook his head. “All togged up in a mask.”

Moody swore and stumped away again, snapping, “Report to Tonks.”

Remus was looking at him thoughtfully. He looked away, slumping against the cold brick and closing his eyes to black out the red sun.


	8. In deadly hate, the one against the other (3/3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first day of term and there are Death Eaters lurking around King's Cross.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For information, JKR had a few factual blips in her description of King's Cross (and don't get me started on the films). The station has two parts. The main concourse leads to platforms 1 -8. There's also a seperate area, which joins the main station at an angle, which contains platforms 9 - 12. This can be accessed by walking along platform eight and then across an open area (the normal approach), from Pancras Road or via a long tunnel from the tube station. The other exits from the tube come up on Euston Road, outside the station and within the main concourse. There are two railway lines between platforms 9 and 10. Remus and Alice take advantage of this. The tube station also falls into two parts - the main ticket hall with escalators down to the Northern, Victoria and Piccadilly lines and the much shallower station for the Circle, Metropolitan and Hammersmith & City. Hence Remus and Sirius only need to use one flight of stairs to reach these platforms.

The snow had turned to sleet since morning. It drove down on King’s Cross, drenching the buses that stacked up the Euston road like bees swarming and streaking the dirty walls of the cheap solicitors and cut-price hotels with dark water. In places, under the canopy, the snow lingered, trodden and almost as yellow as the walls of the new concourse. On the other side of the road the plane trees were sodden, a few stubborn leaves hanging like rags.

He could hear Sirius’ laugh and turned to look for him. He was coming up the steps from the Metropolitan line, hefting the trunk of a pretty Ravenclaw prefect, who was blushing and spluttering breathless thanks. Sirius grinned at her and put the trunk down with a thump.

“You alright to wheel it the rest of the way?”

“Oh, yes, thank you. And here’s Linda.” Another girl was dashing up, blue and orange scarf flapping.

Sirius waved and jogged back over towards Remus.

Behind him, Remus heard Linda say, “Honestly, Carrie. He’s gay.”

“He isn’t,” the prefect protested.

“He is. Everyone knows that. He’s been with Lupin for years.”

Remus had looked up at that moment and he met Sirius’ eyes as she spoke. Sirius’ grin went flat. Remus desperately tried to think of something dashing and witty to say.

“No wonder I can never get a date,” Sirius said and slouched back against the wall. How the hell did he manage to slouch elegantly? “Damn, I’m feeling all nostalgic. What do you think McGonagall would say if I turned up in her class tomorrow?”

“Er,” Remus said, still feeling flustered.

“And mucky snow. Beautiful, stinking London slush and not a single Snivellus to push into it.”

“We’re supposed to be on duty,” Remus said.

Sirius yawned. “Nothing’s happened. I’m bored. Where’s the action?”

“Haven’t you had enough action lately?” Remus asked tartly and then thought about and blushed.

Sirius snickered.

His wand began to vibrate in his sleeve and he let it slide down into his hand, murmuring, “Lupin.”

“Tonks here. Longbottom and Turpin have just left Farringdon. Get down to the Circle Line.”

“On our way,” Remus said but his wand had already gone silent.

Sirius was already bounding away and Remus hurried after him. He could make a good guess at why Sirius was so boisterous today but he couldn’t slow the other boy down enough to interrogate him. The more Sirius bounced, though, the more Remus worried.

They’d all been equipped with tube tickets back at the Ministry. Remus glanced down at his to see the name of the line and station change as they hurried down towards the gates. They passed Kingsley Shacklebolt, who seemed have grown a foot since Remus last saw him, and Remus smiled politely and kept moving. Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow and passed by, lugging his case.

The Circle Line platform was almost deserted. A solitary youth was leaning on the wall, his hands cupped around a cigarette and his dark hair hanging in front of his face. He was wearing a black greatcoat which could almost have been worn by a Muggle, a few hundred years ago.

“Little fuck,” Sirius hissed and stormed down the platform towards him.

Remus caught up in time to hear him demand, “What the hell are you doing down here?”

“Having a fag,” Regulus Black said coolly, and blew smoke into his brother’s face.

“Down here?” Sirius asked dangerously. “Didn’t think I’d see you slumming it around Muggles.”

“Needs must,” Regulus said, lifting one shoulder in a languid shrug. “One must find a place where there’s no professors prying, after all.”

“Like hell,” Sirius said, stepping forward. “Stay out of this, Reggie.”

Regulus looked over Sirius’ shoulder. “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re talking about.”

“Yeah? Nice boots, Regulus. Shame about the mud.”

Regulus tensed but then said, “Is adult life short on people to bully, brother? Or have they decided to send you back to school with the other children?”

Sirius slammed his hands against the tiles on either side of his brother’s head. “I’m serious, Reggie.”

Regulus’ eyebrow quirked but he said nothing.

“Get out. You don’t have to do this, Regulus. You have a choice.”

“I think one blood-traitor is enough in a family, don’t you?”

“Was it the blood-traitor who threw the Killing Curse at his brother?”

Regulus flushed, spots of colour high on his cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The rails were humming behind them, signalling the approach of the train.

Sirius shoved backwards and then lunged for his brother, closing his hand around Regulus’ left forearm. Regulus blanched, his lips parting in a breath of pain. Sirius leant forward. “You’re a fool, Reggie.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m of age. You can’t tell me shit.”

Sirius released him contemptuously. “Get out of here. You don’t want to miss your train, do you?”

“I’ll stay where I damn well want.”

“Out,” Sirius grated. “Run away, Black. Run.”

“Or what?”

“You said it. You’re of age. Think about that.”

Regulus stared at him for a moment, eyes bright with fury. Then he stubbed his cigarette out against the stained wall and shoved past Sirius. He pushed his way out of the station, past the crowd moving forward as the lights showed in the tunnel, his coat billowing behind him.

The train came rattling in, crashing and squealing past as it slowed to a halt. Sirius whirled to glare at it. Remus reached out for him.

Sirius snarled, “Bella!” and took off at a run.

The doors pinged open and Remus saw Alice Longbottom leap off the last carriage, staring around her warily. Sirius was shoving through the crowd. Remus went after him, swearing and trying to push past luggage and gaggles of tourists.

A dark-haired woman was trying to get off the train but Sirius was shoving her backwards. Around them, Muggles were shouting and gesturing. Behind the woman was a hollow-cheeked, heavy-browed man Remus recognised as Rodolphus Lestrange. Lestrange lunged for Sirius and Bellatrix leapt forward.

But the doors were beeping.

Remus kicked viciously, trying to break through the crowd but the doors closed as he slammed against them, and the train began to move. He was forced to stagger backwards before he was pulled away with it. Someone steadied him, saying, “Calm it, mate. They’ll get the bastard at the next stop.”

Remus watched the tail lights of the train disappear towards Euston Square and swore. He pushed away, hurrying away down the platform to where Alice Longbottom and Jerome Turpin were standing with Steven Yarwood pressed between them.

Steven smiled shakily at Remus. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Remus said, feeling worry settle into his stomach.

“What happened?” Alice asked. Her wand was in her hand.

“The Lestranges,” Remus said shortly. “Sirius kept them on the train.”

“Fuck,” Turpin muttered and reached for his wand. “Alice, can you go ahead. Lupin, go with the boy. I’ll cover your rear.” He muttered a spell and then said, “Ted, we have a problem.”

Alice leant forward to mutter, “Head down the turning towards Pancras Road.” Then she moved out, keeping close to the wall. Her pink coat reflected on the tiles in the passageway. At the end she paused, checking the way ahead, and then nodded to them.

“Go,” Turpin said. “If Alice gives you the signal, run.”

Remus nodded and moved off, keeping Steven between himself and the wall. The boy looked exhausted, and he kept shaking, long, slow shudders.

The tunnel curved round, past the main ticket hall. Alice was standing at the other end, scanning the head of the escalators rising from the deeper lines. She beckoned to Remus who marched Steven forward, tensed to run. As they approached her, Alice moved on, turning up a sign passage labelled ‘Trains towards Cambridge.’

Remus followed her. The passage was deserted and he could hear the steady click of her heels. He glanced back in time to see Turpin enter the passage behind them, looking grim. He mouthed, “Hurry.”

“Speed up a bit, lad,” Remus murmured and Steven gulped and scuttled forward.

Alice was waiting for them at the end of the passage. At the top of the steps Remus could see the buses rumbling past. “Last bit of open ground,” she muttered. “Ted’s got it covered but we do it running, right? Chin up, Stevie. We’re almost there.”

Steven grinned wildly and Remus squeezed his arm. He could feel the boy trembling.

They went up the steps at a run, bunched around the boy. The roar of the traffic engulfed them as they burst into the air. In front of them was the red brick back of the suburban terminus and the open goods area between platforms eight and nine.

Ted Tonks was standing by the archway into platform nine. “Straight through!” he roared. “We’ve got an Disillusionment Shield up.”

They hurled themselves towards the gap between platforms nine and ten. As always, Remus felt a flicker of sheer terror that they would run onto the bare tracks.

Then they were through and onto platform nine and three-quarters.

The platform was crowded with students and parents and several looked up at the sound of their pounding steps. They swerved to one side and Steven Yarwood sagged in place with a whimper.

“It’s okay, pet,” Alice said gently. “We made it.”

Steven nodded and whispered, “Thank you.”

She squeezed his shoulder and said, “Good luck, kid. You did good. Your dad would be proud.”

Turpin looked at Remus and tilted his head towards the train. Remus nodded and the two older Aurors headed back towards the barrier. Remus led Steven along the platform, looking for someone he knew was responsible.

He snagged the sleeve of Carrie Lovelace, the Ravenclaw prefect. “Caz. Are there any professors here?”

“Hi, Remus. Professor Flitwick’s here. Shall I get him?”

“Just tell me where he is.”

“He was in the front coach.” She looked at the boy by his side and Remus saw her hold back a shiver. Then she said gently, “Hello, Steven.” She didn’t say anything more but she met Remus’ gaze gravely.

“Thank you,” he said and steered Steven away. He didn’t know what to do for the boy and began to look desperately for Flitwick. Steven was shaking again and Remus said, trying not to sound insincere, “You’ll be safe at Hogwarts.”

“What if-” Steven stammered. “What if they – they come?”

“They won’t,” Remus said in the most reassuringly prefectish voice he could manage. “Dumbledore won’t let them.”

Steven shot him a wide, doubtful look.

“Dumbledore will protect you,” Remus said firmly. “Hogwarts is safe. Hogwarts has never fallen. Nothing will happen to you.”

He rapped on the window to alert Flitwick and bit back a sigh of relief when the tiny professor swung the door open and whisked Steven inside. Steven stumbled into the compartment, collapsing into the seat.

“Thank you, Mr Lupin,” Flitwick said, his eyes grave. “He’s safe now.”

Then, before Remus could say anything, he closed the compartment door, gently but firmly. Remus sighed and then went, leaving Steven with his Head of House. Once the boy was safe in Hogwarts, he could give his statement and maybe, just maybe, they could trace those behind yesterday’s attack. Except he suspected Sirius already knew the name of at least one of them. He ought to tell Ted Tonks what he suspected about Regulus Black. He was almost certain, though, that Sirius would see it as a betrayal.

Where was Sirius?

Ted and Alice were conferring quietly outside the platform. Remus walked up to them, somehow reluctant to rush.

“Steven’s with Flitwick,” he said.

“Good,” Ted said shortly. “Now we just have to receive your idiot partner.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Remus said, even though he wasn’t.

“Fine doesn’t bloody matter,” Ted growled. “What possessed him to get carried off with the Lestranges?”

“He did stop them getting to Steven,” Remus protested.

“There were better ways to do it. If I have to bail him out of Muggle custody, Moody will burst a ventricle. We’re bloody Aurors. We’re meant to be discreet. We’re not some ruddy Order of the Phoenix-style vigilantes.”

“Order of the who?” Remus asked. Horns were blaring on the Euston Road.

“Never mind,” Ted snapped and Alice rolled her eyes behind his head.

There was a volley of barks and a black dog shot around the corner of the station, tongue lolling and mouth wide with doggy glee.

“Oh,” said Alice. “Isn’t he gorgeous?”

“Slipped his lead,” Ted said with interest. “Too groomed to be a stray.”

The dog kept going towards the building site at the back of the station. Remus winced and looked for a wall to disappear into. In lieu of that, he asked, “What should I do now?”

“Stay here,” Ted snapped. “And if Black reappears, stick his feet to the floor. I’m going to check with the boys out the front.”

He stalked off towards platform eight, coat flapping and keychain jingling.

Alice rolled her eyes and rummaged in her pockets. “Bugger. Don’t suppose you’ve got a fag?”

“I don’t smoke,” Remus said apologetically. He had enough health problems.

“Fuck.” She slumped against the wall, arms crossed. “Word of advice, kid. Don’t get Ted started on the Order of the Phoenix. Bit of a bee in his bonnet.” She tapped the side of her head and gave him a sideways smirk. “He’s got a thing about the letter of the law. Spends too much time with lawyers.”

Remus smiled nervously and said, “But who are the Order of Phoenix?”

Alice looked at him oddly. “You are new, aren’t you? They’re a secret society. Fight You-Know-Who.”

“So they’re the good guys?” Remus asked, trying to sound adult and knowledgeable.

Alice gave him an odd smile. “Yes. They’re the good guys.”

Sirius came loping around the corner of the station, grinning widely. He had a black eye and his coat was ripped.

“Alright, Moony,” he said, propping himself against the wall. “Wotcher, Alice.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve got a fag, Black?”

Sirius shook his head. “Nah. Don’t smoke around him.” He jerked his head at Remus.

Alice raised an eyebrow. “You two together?”

“No!” Sirius snapped and Remus echoed him, a beat too late.

“Right.”

“The train gone yet? Get the kid out safely?”

“No and yes,” Remus said dryly. “Your company in the endeavour was much appreciated.”

Sirius grinned. “Gave Bella the slip at Euston Square. Evil cow has a screech like a banshee. Oy, Alice? You’ve been doing this a while, right? Do you know if I can get a rabies shot free? Bitch bit me.”

Two Hufflepuffs came hurtling across from platform eight and Remus sighed. At least life was never dull.


	9. Grim-visag'd War Hath Smooth'd His Wrinkled Front

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius is not good at mornings.

Remus had been cleaning since not long after midnight. Moving quietly through the flat was easy enough. He could hear Sirius snoring, even through the closed door of his room. It didn’t require half the stealth that repainting the Slytherin dorms pink had, back in their third year.

Whose idea had that been, anyway?

Outside it was snowing again, slow heavy flakes swirling down.

He fixed the television on Sunday (Sirius, who still sincerely believed that plugs had teeth, and bit if they were unhappy, had failed to switch it on at the wall). He’d been too tired to do anything more and had happily slumped into Sirius’ spare armchair, after shoving six months worth of newspapers and old takeaways onto the floor. He had a dim feeling that he might have made a tactical error in letting Sirius watch both _Doctor Who_ and _The Professionals_ , but he would deal with that at a later date.

Yesterday had been another day of action. Ted had dismissed them all after lunch, and they had both crashed into bed as soon as they got back. Sirius, who had never troubled himself with the concept of regular sleep patterns, was still asleep. Remus had been up for hours.

Awake, with no distractions, Sirius’ flat was unbearable. He knew, after seven years, that neither James or Sirius believed in cleaning or tidying up. He didn’t even think of himself as particularly fussy. He just preferred it if things were a little less, well, pungent.

There were ten black sacks of rubbish in the hallway. The carpet was visible, and damp from the scrubbing he had subjected it to at two am. With every stain that vanished under the brush, he had wiped away a little of the immediacy of the memory of the burning farmhouse. With every cobweb he had beaten down from the ceiling, he had imagined a Death Eater crumpling into something harmless and laughable. With every plate that he could now see his reflection in, the image of Steven Yarwood’s face faded a little, into something that no longer hung over his nightmares.

He needed to ask Sirius where all the tea had come from.

It was a surprisingly big place when you could see the floor. Big enough to feel lonely when you were the only one awake.

The mugs were hanging on their hooks. The records were all back in the correct sleeves. The books, though he hoped Sirius wouldn’t notice, were in alphabetical order by author. The pictures were straight, the back of the sofa was now parallel with the wall and he had descaled the kettle with vinegar.

All he needed to do now was open the window (even now, it still smelt, and not just of the rather lumpy rose-petal soap Sirius seemed to have judged suitable for washing everything from dishes to toilets); take the rubbish out (which would also let the cold in); and defrost the freezer (he supposed he owed Sirius an opportunity to bid farewell to the truly impressive ice sculpture currently residing there). All those things would involve waking Sirius up.

It was only six am. Sirius wouldn’t stir until at least half-eight.

Remus perched himself on the windowsill and gazed down on the streets. All the Christmas decorations had gone now. There was only the slow snow. It seemed to grey as soon as it hit the streets, melting to nothing under the streetlights. Only on the roofs did it settle, looking too clean for London.

It made him think of Regulus Black, leaning against the pale tiles at King’s Cross. That was why he hated other people’s secrets. A secret shared was a burden and it wasn’t one you could do anything about because it didn’t belong to you.

He’d promised Steven Yarwood that the Death Eaters wouldn’t follow him to Hogwarts. He’d hadn’t even realised that he was lying, that they were already there.

He needed a cup of tea. The pot he’d made before starting on the kettle was all gone.

He rinsed the kettle out a few times and set it to boil. He needed something to read. Couldn’t buy a paper because he still hadn’t found the spare key. He didn’t trust Sirius’ book collection which seemed to consist of mouldy transfiguration tomes, oil-smeared motorbike manuals and a lurid-looking set of spy novels about a peculiar character called Alexius Alphonse-Atherton, the Muggle-who-wasn’t.

He’d have to get his dad to owl him some books if the Floo stayed down much longer. He’d been reading E. M. Forster, working along the shelf of books his mother had left and trying to avoid the war poetry, which was a little too real for comfort. He had an uncomfortable feeling that _Maurice_ was not going to end happily.

The kettle whistled and he made another pot and settled back onto the windowsill, cradling his mug. He could see the spire of St-Martins-in-the-Field from here. He had to admit it was nice to be so central, even if the neighbourhood was a little peculiar. He couldn’t move in, of course, because he’d end up spending all his wages walking home down Charing Cross Road. He wondered what Sirius would think of that argument.

He’d probably take it better than the truth. He thought about saying it, shaping the words silently in his throat.

 _The reason I won’t move in with you, Sirius, is because I’m still in love with you and I couldn’t bear it. It’s hard enough to pretend when we’re working together or with James and Peter. I couldn’t do it if we were always alone together._

And then everything would change. All that carefully restored ease between them would vanish. Sirius didn’t want him.

Or did he?

New Year’s Eve had upset too many of the things he carefully didn’t think about. He wasn’t sure what had been worse – the feverish heat of Sirius’ mouth on his, of Sirius’ body pressed against him, or the utter disgust Sirius had displayed once he realised what he was doing.

No, that wasn’t true. The disgust was the worst. The kiss had been everything he hadn’t let himself dream of for years. Oh, fuck Sirius, why did he have to do this now, when he thought he could live with the whole unwelcome mess? He wanted him. He wanted him so much it hurt sometimes and it didn’t matter. He lived with it.

Then Sirius had kissed him again.

The snow. He should just look at the snow. It was getting heavier and slushier.

There was a thump from the next room and Sirius’ door crashed open. Remus turned around in time to see Sirius stumble out, stark-naked and blinking.

“Padfoot?” he squeaked.

Sirius stared at him, said, “Muhwb,” and dived back into his room.

Remus shut his eyes and tried desperately not to speculate on whether Sirius always wandered the flat in the nude when he didn’t have guests.

He heard the door open again and cracked his eyes open. Sirius had pulled a pair of jeans on, though he was still bleary-eyed. He stumbled halfway across the room before he stopped dead and said, “Muh?”

He’d dealt with Sirius before the rising bell many a time. “Morning. There’s tea in the pot.”

“Mwer?” Sirius turned in a circle and then staggered for the hall. He flung the door of the flat open and checked the number. Then he came back in, looking around in horror.

“I, uh, may have tidied up a bit.”

“Flah. Muh flah!”

“Yes, it is your flat.”

Sirius stared at him in wordless reproach. Remus, who was beginning to wonder whether he might have overstepped the bounds of guesthood, smiled nervously.

“Tidy.”

Remus nodded, beginning to worry.

Sirius whimpered and ran back into his room, slamming the door behind him.

That wasn’t quite the reaction he’d been hoping for. Remus sighed and put down his tea. On a coaster. He wondered if Sirius knew he owned coasters. He walked across and knocked on Sirius’ door.

There was no reply so he cracked it open and shuffled in. It was even less tidy than the rest of the flat had been. Through the dim chaos he could see that Sirius had gone back to bed, curled under his blankets. Remus slipped across, trying hard not to step on anything delicate.

“Padfoot?”

A grunt, and the blankets were drawn up even more tightly.

Remus sat down beside the lump, drawing his feet up. “Would you like me to go and throw some peanuts on the floor?”

There was a snort and the blankets shifted so that Sirius glared out. “You tidied up.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Things were shiny.”

“Some things are supposed to be shiny.”

The blankets went down again.

Remus grinned. He’d forgotten how much he liked Sirius when he wasn’t quite awake, before he’d put his dignity on. He stretched out, studying the blanket fort beside him for weaknesses. Sirius’ bed was a decent size. Not that the one in the guest room was small but this one was big enough for two. If they were friendly.

“What time is it?”

“Six.”

“Too early. How long you been tidying?”

Remus shrugged. “About six hours.”

Sirius emerged from the blankets again, looking horrified. “Moony. Should’ve woken me up. What’s wrong?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Remus said. “Not all of us can sleep fourteen hours straight.”

“Fourteen hours is nothing,” Sirius said. “Going back to sleep.”

Remus rolled his eyes and slid his hand under the blankets. He managed to get a foot, and tickled.

Sirius howled and pounced, dragging him under the blankets. Remus wrestled gleefully, his arms full of blankets and warm Sirius. Sirius went for his ears and Remus squirmed and rolled, grabbing for a blanket as a shield. Sirius’ leg slipped between his with a rough scrape of denim, Remus twisted, trying to break free, and felt an unmistakeable hardness press against his hip.

Sirius gasped, and Remus released the blankets and slid his arms around Sirius. He wasn’t wasting a single chance. He tangled a leg around Sirius’ hips and thrust up. Sirius moaned and Remus sighed in triumph and buried his face in the warm angle of Sirius’ neck, rocking against him.

One of Sirius’ hands was on his hip and the other trapped against his chest, warm and awkward. Sirius flung his head back and gasped, “Moony. We can’t.”

Remus kissed the end of his collarbone, not wanting to hear.

Sirius shoved him backwards, in a flurry of blankets, and went. Remus heard the door slam behind him and rolled over, curling into the wall.

 _Fuck_.

Sirius had wanted him. He was experienced enough, and experienced enough with Sirius, to know that.

Sirius was insane.

Of course, he’d never quite been satisfied with that explanation, even when he was eleven. There was always a reason Sirius was insane.

The blankets smelt like Sirius. The fact that he was tempted to steal one was probably a sign that he needed to get up and have a serious conversation.

Sirius was in the kitchen, toasting a loaf of bread with his wand.

“Isn’t it customary to slice it first?” Remus asked.

Sirius snarled.

“Just trying to make conversation.” He poured himself another cup of tea and retreated into the corner. The loaf was smouldering.

Sirius whirled round. “Where’s my carving knife?”

“In the knife block,” Remus said, wondering if he should run.

“Hmph.” Sirius grabbed the knife and began to hack at the bread. Black crumbs went flying across the kitchen. By sheer willpower, Remus forced himself not to wince.

“That,” Sirius said, bringing the knife down viciously, “did not happen.”

“Then we both have very vivid imaginations.”

Sirius snarled.

Remus sipped his tea and fought his own temper down. “Shall I go back to Bognor tonight?”

“You’re not going back to Bognor until the Floo’s running. Fucking splich yourself.”

“As if you care.”

Sirius spun to face him, pointing the knife at him with a flourish. “Don’t you tell me if I fucking care!”

Remus raised an eyebrow at the knife and waited until Sirius lowered it, flushing. Then he sipped his tea and said, as nastily as he could, “I thought I’d defrost the freezer next.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my freezer.”

Remus smiled and said nothing. He poured another cup of tea and walked through into the next room where he sat, pointedly, in a chair which had barely been visible the day before.

The sound of the burnt loaf hitting the kitchen wall was oddly satisfying. Not as satisfying as pushing Sirius against the wall and having his way with him would have been but still – satisfying.

The fire crackled and flickered green.

“Fire for you,” Remus called.

“Then fucking answer it, you wanker.”

Remus smiled nicely again, even though he knew Sirius wasn’t looking, and walked over to flick a thumbnail of Floo powder into the hearth.

Ted Tonks’ head appeared. “Wotcher, Remus. Where’s Sirius?”

“Fucking, wanking, bastard peanut butter!”

“Ah,” Ted said and Remus was almost certain he was biting back a grin. “Before the first cup of tea, is it? Meet the rest of us at Mile End tube at ten.”

“Okay,” Remus said, uncertain. “Um, aren’t we still meant to be in training?”

Ted grinned widely. “You passed.”

“I don’t remember the test.”

“On the job assessment, mate. Survive your first call out and you’re qualified. Mile End, ten. Don’t be late.” He drew a breath and bellowed, “Did you hear that, Black? _Don’t be late!_ ”

Sirius stalked out of the kitchen. “I am never late.”

Ted snorted and the fire sizzled out.

“Never late?” Remus said incredulously.

Sirius swung his glare towards him. “It is not my fault everyone else possesses an inaccurate timepiece. I am going to get dressed. Do not follow me.”

Remus gaped but, by the time he’d thought of a suitable retort, Sirius had vanished into his room again. Remus had a nasty feeling that the day was only going to get worse.


	10. Have No Delight To Pass Away The Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original idea for this included the dire consequences of mending Sirius' telly, lots of references to _The Clangers_ and James and Sirius pretending to be soupdragons. Then I remembered I was meant to be using Lily's pov and decided to write about Andromeda instead. Feel free to imagine the swanee whistles in the background.

Lily Evans peered down the corridor nervously, her files clutched to her chest. There was no one in sight. She looked back into the office of the Wizengamot Administration Services. Nobody was trying to catch her eye. All she had to do was get through the Auror Headquarters, past the Wizarding Intelligence Legate (Level B) and down the stairs.

Lily ran.

She was through the AH and just about to start through the WIL (LB) when somebody called, “Lily Evans!”

She skidded to a halt and turned, fixing a polite smile on her face. She wanted lunch, damnit. Andromeda Tonks was leaning round the corner of one of the cubicles, waving at her. At the sight of Lily’s expression her face creased in an oddly familiar grin.

“Hang on a second,” she said and leant back into the cubicle.

Lily swallowed a groan and stepped out of the centre of the corridor. She loved working for the Wizengamot, she really did. If only the lawyers would realise that admin staff had to eat too. And go home on time, too, that would be nice, but really lunch was the main thing. She hadn’t had time for breakfast this morning, bugger the bloody Floo, and she could feel her stomach rumbling. Was this how Peter felt all the time?

Andromeda reemerged, juggling even more files than Lily. “Don’t look so worried,” she said. “I was going to buy you lunch, if you’re free?”

“Oh,” Lily said, startled. “Thank-”

“Take some of these, will you? If I run them back to my desk someone will grab me. Really, anyone would think there was a war on.”

Lily blinked and glanced at her, unsure. Andromeda winked and passed her some files. They made their way downstairs as Lily tried to think of a polite way to ask what she wanted. None of the other barristers had bought her lunch, even the nicer young ones.

“I’d keep the speed up,” Andromeda said, her heels clicking as she hurried down the stairs. “The Aurors tend to break for lunch at half-one. Get between them and food and you’ll have as much chance as a hinkypuff in an erumpent stampede.”

Lily laughed. “Sounds like any mealtime at the Gryffindor table. Possibly safer.” It hadn’t been until her last year that her food had stopped turning into peculiar things when she sliced it.

Andromeda smiled as they left the stairs and went into the canteen. Then she winced.

“What?” Lily asked, alarmed.

“Exotic soup. Again. No wonder the queue’s short.”

She slid into it ahead of a tall young man who said, “Oh, really, Black.”

“Tonks,” Andromeda snapped. “As you know perfectly well, Macnair.”

Macnair sneered at her and then looked at Lily. He lifted an eyebrow in disgust and stepped back. “On consideration, Black, do go ahead. I don’t care for the company you keep.”

Andromeda pressed her lips together, scowling, and Lily said brightly, “Oh, gosh, I feel as if I never left school. Should I be taking points off Slytherin?”

“You’d still lose the cup,” Andromeda said with forced cheer. Lily could see the storminess in the way she stepped forward. “Isn’t your house motto _Bugger the rules?_ ”

“That’s just Sirius,” Lily said cheerfully. “Isn’t Slytherin’s _Damn Glory, Just Don’t Get Caught?_ ”

“And look who always wins the cup,” Andromeda said and took a bowl of soup. It was a faintly glowing shade of orange, speckled with something green and glittery. Lily eyed it nervously before adding her own bowl to the tray. “You know Sirius then?”

Oh, of course. Andromeda Tonks. Sirius’ cousin. “You’re the one with the lovely little girl.”

“Lovely is a debatable term,” Andromeda said but looked pleased. “Four sickles for two bowls of this? Bloody captive market. _Jusgardium leviosa_ ”

The soup began to float across the canteen and Andromeda followed it calmly. A small wizard had to leap out of the way to save his hat and he looked around indignantly, squeaking, “Mrs Tonks!”

“Sorry, Diggle,” Andromeda called. “Needs must.”

He muttered something but didn’t seem in the mood for an argument. Lily spotted an empty table and pointed. Within moments, they were seated. Andromeda picked her spoon up and considered her soup. Then she said, “Go ahead, Gryffindor. Be brave.”

“Brave,” Lily said primly, “is not the same as foolhardy.” She dipped her spoon in anyway.

“Can I tell Sirius that?”

“I’ve given up. Talking sense into James is the task of a lifetime. Sirius is beyond my capabilities. This has pineapple in it.”

Andromeda took a careful mouthful. “And prawns. That’s new. It was bacon last time.”

“I’ve got bacon as well. And some cubes of cheese.”

“Carrots and papaya.”

“Strawberries and, um, something.” Lily lifted a slice of something black and lumpy.

Andromeda considered it. “I think,” she said at last, “that’s a sea cucumber. It might be rat.”

“I hope it’s sea cucumber,” Lily muttered and took another mouthful. It could have tasted worse. Possibly.

Andromeda sighed. “How’s it going? Adjusted to the workload yet?”

“I’m fine,” Lily said, a little stiffly. She didn’t care what anyone said – she hated accepting that she would never get everything finished.

Andromeda lifted a eyebrow. “I spent a year or so clerking before I got my pupillage. I forgot to eat for three days once. Ted found me asleep in his cubicle when he got in the next morning. The house elves had watered me.”

Lily blinked. That explained lunch. On the other hand – “The house elves here are a little strange, aren’t they?”

“It’s the concentration of magic,” Andromeda said, prodding her soup. “It goes to their heads.”

The canteen was filling up behind them. Lily spotted a familiar sets of heads in the queue and smiled to herself. Then she focussed on the conversation at hand. “I’m coping. Really. What does all that magic do to the people who work here?”

Andromeda smiled slyly. It was the same smile that Sirius used when he was about to tell his most outrageous lies. “Miss Evans,” she said solemnly, “have you ever seen an old civil servant?”

“The Potters,” Lily said promptly.

Andromeda waved her hand airily. “They’re based in the regions. I meant here.”

Lily grinned. “What happens to them?”

“A fate worse than death.”

“A fate worse than Sirius?”

“Much worse.” Andromeda lowered her voice and said, “House elves.”

Lily nodded soberly. “Muggles say that old sailors do not die. They merely fade away.”

“Quite.”

For a moment they both managed to keep a straight face. Then Andromeda cackled and Lily collapsed into laughter. She hadn’t made many friends in the Ministry yet and it was lovely to have someone to laugh with.

Andromeda recovered first and tackled her soup again. “Don’t let it get cold. It’s even worse congealed.”

Lily winced and ate, trying not to think about what she could taste. “Thank you for this.”

“Not at all,” Andromeda said. “I shall want a favour, though.”

“Oh?” Lily returned cautiously.

“Dinner. Tuesday. Ted’s invited some of his new recruits and I want reinforcements for the side of sanity. Bring your young man.”

“That won’t help the sanity levels,” Lily said wryly. She had managed to go all morning without thinking about James. She knew he was up to something. She didn’t even mind, as long as it was semi-legal and didn’t involve slime. She just wanted to be involved.

“He can’t possibly be as bad as Sirius.”

“Put money on it,” Lily said promptly as she saw the boys approaching. “Though at least James can use cutlery.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, dropping into the seat beside her, “but he eats his sausages raw.” He stuck a finger into her soup and then licked it. “Fuck. What the hell is that?”

“Exotic soup,” Andromeda said. “Barbarian child.”

“Wotcher, Meda. You cooking on Tuesday?”

“For my sins.”

Lily frowned. Remus had drawn out the chair beside Sirius, looking weary. As soon as he sat down Sirius shuffled away, not looking at him. James draped himself in the last chair and sent her a tight, worried smile before tackling his soup.

“Yeah, well, your sins are manifold. Better make a starter. I like ham and Remus likes chocolate. Though not with ham.”

“Sirius,” Remus said warningly. “Manners.”

“I can be rude if I bloody well want to.”

“Not if you want something you can eat,” Andromeda said sweetly. “I know your allergies.”

“Allergies?” James said with interest, slurping up another spoonful.

Sirius scowled.

“Are you actually eating that?” Lily asked, staring at James. He hadn’t met her eyes yet and she felt a little core of hurt. What was going on?

“I like it,” he said without looking up. “Finish yours?”

She slid it across the table, wondering if he would look up. “Here you are.”

He grabbed it and towed it closer. Then he paused and put his spoon down with a clatter. He swallowed and looked up, meeting her eyes.

“Lily?”

“Yes?” What the _hell_ was going on? Sirius had shut up and Remus had sat up straight, eyes wide.

“Will you-” He stopped, mouth working desperately, and then blurted out, “Will you go and see _Superman_ with me on Sunday?”

Sirius huffed in disgust and Lily stood up. “No. We’re going to dinner with Petunia, remember?”

James sank back into his seat, curling over the soup again. “Bugger.”

“She’s my sister,” Lily said, and turned away.

There was a distinct splash behind her which she was sure was James’ face hitting the soup. She refused to turn to see if Sirius was responsible.

“Lily.”

That was Remus so she slowed enough to catch up.

“He means well.”

Lily shrugged. She didn’t quite trust herself to talk. She knew that James had secrets he could only share with the other three. She just didn’t think she was a legitimate target for pranks any more.

“I know he’s being a bit peculiar,” Remus said as they started up the stairs, “but it’s nothing bad.”

Remus knew what was going on. She swung on him. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing,” Remus said, looking alarmed.

“But you know, don’t you?”

“Er.”

“Do Peter and Sirius know too? Am I the only one who hasn’t been told?”

“Um.”

“What’s going on, Remus?”

He set his chin. “Talk to James.”

“What - so he can fob me off with some nonsense about mustard or films I don’t want to see?”

“Don’t you want to see _Superman?_ ”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t change the subject.” She scowled at him and then found herself worrying. He looked pale and ill again. “Are you okay?”

He smiled ruefully. “It’s going to be one of those interesting weekends.”

She calculated the moon in her head. Damn. “Shouldn’t you be eating lunch?”

“If Sirius tries to move any further round the table, he’ll send the whole thing flying.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Sirius was always a good person to rage at. He gave as good as he got and understood when it was for fun and not worth bearing a grudge.

“Not somewhere that public. Look, thanks, but I’ll deal with it.”

“You can always come and stay with me. Mum would love to have you and the train isn’t so bad, once you get used to it.”

She got a genuine smile that time. “Thanks, but I’m fine where I am. Talk to James.”

“Only if you talk to Sirius.”

“I’ll have to glue him to the ceiling first,” Remus muttered.

“Hmm. Interesting idea.” It was probably worth a try. She knew exactly how to break James’ brain and if he was tied up at the time… He’d crack. He’d definitely crack.

“Poor, poor Prongs,” Remus murmured.

“Why does nobody ever say poor Lily?”

“Because we’re know who’s the scary one,” Remus said, with a flicker of a grin. “Thanks, Lily.”

But somebody was already shouting her name and she didn’t have time to say anything more. She just grinned and waved and starting running towards her desk.


	11. Cheated Of Feature By Dissembling Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus isn't feeling too well the day before the moon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go for a three day moon. In January 1979 that's the 11th to the 13th.

Remus was wilting.

It was the best simile he’d thought of yet. With every half hour that crept by, Remus’ head swayed further forward, his quill scratching steadily across the scroll.

Sirius glowered.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I shall be missing enough time,” Remus said, his voice pinched and polite.

“You’re going to have to leave at lunchtime anyway. Before it gets dark.”

“I’m aware of that, thank you, Sirius.”

“So go now.”

“No.”

Sirius scowled. All they were doing was writing up the interviews from earlier in the week. It was bloody boring and Remus didn’t need to be doing it. He needed to be resting, readying himself for the moon. Annoyed, he began to kick at the partition. Bloody Remus never knew what was good for him.

He got the prim voice again. “I have a headache.”

“Then go home!”

“You’re annoying our neighbours.”

“Too bloody right,” Alice Longbottom said, her head appearing over the top of the partition. “What’s your problem, Black?”

“Him,” Sirius muttered and grinned up at her. “You grew.”

“I’m standing on my desk, you prat.”

“Whose desk?” a male voice rumbled.

“Fine. I’m standing on Frank’s desk. Though, as he’s currently using mine to put together a scale model of King’s Cross, I don’t see what right he has to complain. Why’s Lupin your problem?” She tilted her head to study Remus, blonde hair sliding down her neck.

“He’s here,” Sirius said shortly.

“Friendly bugger, aren’t you? Is he always such a charmer, Lupin?”

“Yes,” Remus said without looking up.

“I must admit he has a point. You look like shit, kid.”

“See,” said Sirius, folding his arms.

“I have a report to write.”

“You’re actually writing it. Ted got blackmail material or something?”

“Only on me,” Sirius interjected.

She flapped a hand at him. “Shut it, you. Lupin, nobody writes the bloody reports.” She raised her voice to a bellow. “Oy! Tonks! Stop corrupting minors!”

“Do some fucking work, Longbottom!”

“He was so much more fun when we were fifteen,” she confided in a stage whisper. “What’s wrong with you, Lupin?”

“I’m fine.”

“He’s not,” Sirius said, sensing an ally.

“Wasn’t asking you, cheap and cheerful.”

Sirius smirked at her and leant back in his chair. “A Black is never cheap.”

She snickered. Remus hunched his shoulders and bent forward further over his desk. Alice folded her arms on the top of the barrier and purred, “Little cocky, aren’t we, gorgeous?”

“Leave the kid alone, Alice,” Frank rumbled.

“Aw. I like him. He makes the place look pretty. Besides, I’m not your type, am I, gorgeous?”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Sirius,” Remus said, and he could just tell he was gritting his teeth.

There was another thump from behind the partition and Frank Longbottom appeared next to his wife. He smiled down at them cheerfully and then frowned. “You look terrible, Lupin. No point in being here if you’re that bad.”

“I can last until lunchtime.”

“But you don’t need to,” Sirius said.

Remus kept writing. Sirius could see how his quill was dipping with each stroke.

“Lupin,” Frank said kindly. “Really. If you’re not on top form, we don’t mind if you go.” He leant on the partition and it creaked ominously.

“Do they collapse?” Sirius asked because he could see the tightness in Remus’ shoulders which meant he wouldn’t budge.

“Like dominoes,” Alice said, raising an eyebrow at him in concerned query. “Save it for when Ted’s in a really pissy mood, though.”

“Longbottom, I’m warning you!”

“Alice,” Frank said warningly.

Remus put his quill down and quietly settled his head against the wood. Sirius shot up and crossed the cubicle in one step. He put his hand on Remus’ shoulder and tried not to think of Remus writhing against him; Remus’ hands warm on his skin.

There was a thump and he turned in time to see the flash of ankles and a swirl of robes, and hear Ted bellow, “ _Longbottom!_ ”

Alice landed on his desk and then came over to stand beside him. “Come on, chicken, chin up. We’ll get gorgeous here to take you home.”

“I don’t want to go home,” Remus said.

“What’s wrong with him?”

Lily had worked out the perfect excuse. But he wasn’t allowed to remember it perfectly. Everyone knew he always got Muggle things wrong. He shrugged and said, “He gets ill sometimes. Malorria.”

“Who’s got malaria?” Ted asked sharply, coming in with Frank.

“Remus.”

“I have not.”

“He did have,” Sirius said and wished it was as easy to lie about big things as about small ones. “Years ago. It comes back.”

“I’m fine.”

“Do we need to get him to a healer?” Frank asked.

“No,” Sirius snapped. “He just needs his medicine and a few days in bed.”

“I am perfectly capable,” Remus said. He was blushing right across the back of his neck and Sirius suddenly wanted him out of here, away from all these well-intentioned strangers.

“Shut up, Remus,” Ted said kindly. “How long will it take you to get home?”

“He’s staying at mine.”

“Take him home, then.”

“I have a report to finish.”

“I’ll finish it,” Sirius said.

“Get out of here,” Ted said. “Unlike some people, you pull your weight.”

Alice sighed mournfully and winked at Frank. “Ted doesn’t love us anymore. I’ll get your coat, chicken.”

Ted eyed her. “And when you’ve done that-”

“I shall do some work, Head Boy, just to stop you taking points off Gryffindor.”

She and Frank disappeared and Ted sat on the desk, stretching his legs out. He glanced across at Sirius. “You okay?”

“It’s not infectious.”

“Wasn’t what I meant.”

“I’m fine,” Sirius said and shoved his hands into his pockets. Nobody was supposed to be worrying about him. Ted looked at him thoughtfully but didn’t say anything more.

Alice came back with Remus’ coat and then went, shooting Sirius a sympathetic smile. Should he put a notice up? - _No, I am_ not _shagging Remus Lupin. Thank you for asking._

Remus struggled into his coat. Sirius didn’t help. He was certain it wouldn’t be welcome. He turned to Ted instead. “I’ll come straight back.”

“I should hope so. Nothing wrong with you. Lupin, I don’t want to see you until you’re well again.”

Remus looked unhappy about it but Sirius felt himself grin with relief. Ted was alright, really, even if he was a moody git at work.

Ted clapped him on the back. “Go on. Out.” Then he murmured, “And stop fretting. You’re as transparent as glass.”

It wasn’t until they were leaving Leicester Square that Remus deigned to speak to him. “You didn’t need to make a scene.”

“Thought I was setting up your alibi, actually, mate. And I didn’t make a scene. You should never have come in today.”

Remus set his lips and folded his arms, hunching forward as he walked along.

“Does it ache?” Sirius asked gently.

“Everywhere.”

“I’ll make you tea.”

“You need to get back.”

“Ted’s alright.”

“You shouldn’t take advantage.”

“I’m not,” Sirius said, hurt. Then he relented and slung an arm around Remus’ shoulders. “Lean on me, you prat.”

“You’ll get us arrested.”

“We’re in Soho, mate. Nobody gives a shit.” Sirius chuckled. “Heh.”

“What?”

“I’m gorgeous and you’re chicken.”

“Oh, fuck off, you.” But Remus leant on his shoulder and Sirius smiled. Everything would be fine. He wasn’t sure how, or when, but it would all work out in the end.


	12. Deform'd, Unfinish'd, Sent Before My Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moonset to sunrise, outside the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go for a three day moon. In January 1979 that's the 11th to the 13th.

_Snow._

 _So white-cold the world, so heavy-wet-cold clinging to his paws. The moon is bright; he is dark. The snow is white; his prints black._

 _The wolf turns, held at bay by the stag._

 _The dog crouches; growls; herds the wolf away._

 _The moon is sinking, falling as the star-net fades._

 _Turn, turn again._

 _The rat squeals warning and they plunge forward, dog, stag, wolf. Turn the wolf,_ turn _him._

 _The whole world is turning._

 _Out of the forest, through the ghost-grey trees. The boughs are cracking under the ice. The sky is as deep-dark as forever._

 _The wolf lunges, breaks free towards the lake. The dog follows, baying, and the stag runs, snow skittering up from his hooves. They clash on the ice: fur, antler, claw, spinning as paws and hooves slip and slither. Then the wolf is forced back, shoved towards the shore with threat and jab._

 _They press him through the edges of the forest. He snarls and backs his way through the forest, his pelt grey-dappled through the veils of the moonshadows._

 _The sky is lightening, far beyond the forest. The stag lifts his head in the old signal and then leaps away, the rat clinging to his antlers._

 _Dog and wolf._

 _The wolf charges, testing, wild for freedom. The dog leaps, knocking him from the air, and they crash down. They circle, the snow splashing around them. This is an old game._

 _The wolf feints._

 _The dog snarls._

 _There’s the crash and thunder of the stag’s approach and the wolf throws his head back and howls, feral lamentation to the winter sky. The dog hunches. He will not be distracted._

 _The wolf knows it, his mind returning with the hints of the morning. He leaps away, passing the stag as he approaches, without the rat. The stag startles sideways and then shakes his antlers, as if in annoyance. Then they both plunge after the wolf._

 _The rat is already under the tree and the branches are still, wracked in the air, reaching for the sky. They force the wolf into the tunnel and then leap backwards._

 _The rat moves and the branches whip down, reaching and angry. The rat dashes out, prints eyelash-fine on the snow. The stag bows his head to them and then leaps away, bounding through the forest, the morning light glimmering until he seems to be made of light; almost unreal._

 _The rat curls up and then stretches…_

 _...stretches…_

 _…and there is a man standing there, rolling his shoulders out._

 _The dog growls at the Willow once more and changes._

“I still think Dumbledore will have a fit it he finds out,” Peter said. “I do. Don’t you? Don’t you, Sirius, eh?”

Sirius shrugged and walked away from the willow. “No one else needs the Shack. What does he expect? That we’ll let Remus hurt himself in some ministry cage?”

“I should hope Dumbledore doesn’t know that we know,” Peter said sharply and shook his hands out. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” The colour had flooded back into the world and he felt like sinking back into the dog, into black-and-white, tooth-and-claw.

“Need a fag.” Peter was still twitching. Rat-mannered prat.

“Tough.” How long did they have to wait?

“It’s about ten to seven now. When do you need to be at work?”

“Nine.” He didn’t want to go. There was no Pomfrey now; no one to mend the horrors of the night.

“I’ve got a late start today. I can stay with him until ten or so. Get him home.”

“Cheers.” He wanted to stay himself.

“Your place or Bognor?”

“Mine,” snapped Sirius. Wasn’t that obvious?

“You shagging him again, then?”

Sirius glared at him. How many times did he have to tell people there was nothing going on?

Peter was scrabbling through his pockets. He emerged with a pack of Rizlas and a tin. “Hah!” He glanced at Sirius. “What? What about New Year?”

“New Year didn’t happen,” Sirius said, dropping onto a protruding root and watching the Willow lash the sky. The snow stuck wetly to the back of his robes.

“My eyes must have deceived me.”

“It didn’t happen. It would have been wrong.”

“ _Incendio_. What do you mean wrong? I’ve seen your poster collection, you daft pervert. You don’t have issues.”

“Not because I’m gay,” Sirius muttered.

Peter stared at him incredulously. “You fancy Remus. Remus fancies you. You went out with him for months – and, may I add, provided my young and innocent brain with significant trauma.”

“Yeah, and look how that ended.”

Peter squinted at the sky. “James and Snivellus didn’t get eaten. You and Remus didn’t get expelled. You got dumped.”

“I did not get dumped. Give me a fag.”

“You dumped him? You are a bit of a wanker, aren’t you, Pads?”

“Fag.”

“Thought you didn’t smoke?”

“Don’t. Not round Moony.” Sirius glared at the Willow again. Surely the moon had set.

“Catch. He’s obviously forgiven you.”

Sirius huddled onto his root. The snow was soaking through the bottom of his robes and his toes felt like slugs from the cold. He lit the cigarette and cradled it between lips and hands, not drawing on it. The small heat seemed too unfair when Remus was hurting down there.

“Padfoot.”

“Wormtail.”

Peter tapped his foot against the ground, twitching. “Not forgiven then.”

“Dunno. Leave it.”

The stag came back through the trees and shook himself down into James Potter.

“Howling’s stopped. You two alright?”

“Padfoot’s not right in the head,” Peter said.

“Old news, Wormtail, old news.”

Sirius pushed up. “Let us in, then, Pete.”

“Not until you talk.”

Sirius whirled. Remus was hurting. How dare he?

Peter glared back. “Prongs, he dumped Moony.”

“No, he didn’t,” James said automatically. “Moony dumped him because he was a bit of wanker. Can’t blame him, really, but he’s a bit of a git for holding a grudge all this time.”

“He is not,” Sirius growled, looking between them. He couldn’t hit both of them at once. “Let me into the passage.”

“Padfoot dumped him,” Peter said patiently. “He just told me.”

James turned to glare at Sirius, the dawn reflecting off his glasses. “Padfoot?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius muttered, eyeing the Willow. He could make a run for it. “Bad idea, anyway. Deserves better.”

James looked at Peter. “You hold, I hit?”

Peter shrugged. “Full body-bind. Then we both hit.”

“What are you wankers on about? Let me in, Wormtail.”

“Don’t,” James said quietly and it was his Head Boy voice. “Why, Sirius?”

They couldn’t just leave it, could they? “Fucking betrayed him.”

“I thought you were meant to apologise for things like that. Or have I missed some of the relationship wisdom of Sirius Black?”

“Might do it again.”

There was a silence, broken only by Peter huffing around his fag and the snow creaking under James’ feet. Then James said coolly, “Full body-bind, we hit and then I give him to Lily. To roast.”

Sirius looked at him, startled. James was meant to understand these things. Not get angry. “He can’t trust me, Prongs. Wouldn’t be right.”

“Have you asked him that?”

He shuffled, pushing at the snow with his feet, erasing pawprints. “No.”

“I trust you.”

“And so do I,” Peter added.

“I don’t. Let me in.”

“Go on, Wormtail.” James waited until Peter transformed and then said softly, “There’s a war on.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? Do you know it in your bones? Do you know it every time you look at someone and wonder if they’ll be next? I’m the one who has to tell people their children are dead. Every time I look at Lily, I know, and I’m fucking scared, Pads. And maybe he’s less of a target than her and maybe he’s more, but you can’t waste a chance.”

Sirius closed his eyes against the sting of the cold sunrise. “Lily’s safe with you, mate. And, yeah, I know there’s a war on and I’d do anything, absolutely anything, to get us all through. He’s not safe with me.”

The branches of the Willow stilled and Sirius stepped forward through them.

Remus was waiting.


	13. Into This Breathing World Scarce Half Made Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus, after the moon. Sheer fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go for a three day moon. In January 1979 that's the 11th to the 13th.

The first thing he was aware of was candlelight. He could see it through his eyelids, a flickering, orange blur.

His shoulder hurt.

“Don’t move.” That was Sirius, his voice muted but still intense.

“Wasn’t planning to,” Remus managed. “What happened?”

“Snow,” Sirius said. “We lost you for a bit, up towards Drumglas.” Remus felt a warm hand on his bare shoulder, pressing him back down. “Nothing happened. We caught you before you got near the road. Had to take a lump out your shoulder, though.”

Remus subsided. “No one was hurt?”

“No one was hurt. Except you.”

“We should stop doing this. It isn’t safe. It isn’t worth-”

Sirius’ hand slid up from his shoulder and pressed on his lips. “Hush, you.”

Remus tried to keep protesting but all he could feel was the brush of his lips against the warm weight of Sirius’ palm. He could hear Sirius breathing, slow and steady, and feel the pulse in the heel of his hand and beating in his thumb, pressed against Remus’ cheekbone. He stopped talking, and let his lips rest against Sirius’ palm. He could taste the warm tang of sweat, the sourness of snow and a faint heaviness that had to be oil.

“Patching you up again, eh?” Sirius moved his hand away, cupping Remus’ face.

“Told you you should have been a healer.”

Sirius snorted. “Don’t like ill people.”

“Don’t know how you put up with me, then.”

“You’re you, you prat.”

Remus opened his eyes. Sirius was kneeling beside the bed, regarding him solemnly. His eyes were dark in the gloom, and the candlelight reflected off his hair, in red highlights. Behind him the candle flickered on the mantelpiece. A dim, cold light crept through the window, signifying snow.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” Remus said and couldn’t keep from smiling. “Where’s Prongs and Wormtail?” Had he hurt them?

“Prongs twisted his ankle,” Sirius said, his fingers tightening. “Pete took him to Lily’s. Stop worrying. He’s probably getting the shag of his life right now.”

Lucky James. Remus blinked and tried to remember what he was going to say.

“Go back to sleep,” Sirius said gently. “It’s Saturday. We can stay here all day.”

“When’s the moon?”

“Sunset’s four-twenty. The moon rises at five. They’ll be back at four. You’ve got six hours to rest.”

“Okay. You staying?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m staying.” He shoved to his feet, shaking his hair back. “Warm enough?”

“Yeah.” He was freezing. He could feel his toes cramping.

“Liar.” Sirius bent over him again, pulling the blanket up firmly. “I’ll run down into Hogsmeade and get more blankets later.”

“I don’t need more blankets.”

“Tough. _I_ want more blankets.” Sirius crossed the room, and Remus let himself watch. Didn’t he ache from the chase? Didn’t his muscles burn with weariness? How did he manage to be so graceful all the time?

He should argue about the blankets. He really should but he was tired and everything seemed to be right for once and he didn’t want to fight with Sirius.

Sirius set a tripod over the candle and then busied himself with a beaker and vial of something green and viscous.

“What’s that?”

“Pain potion. I’m just warming it up – tastes like piss when it’s cold.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Shut up, Moony.”

Remus subsided into his pillows. Sirius was talking to him again, without a snarl in every sentence. That was something, he supposed. Perhaps, he should give up again and be satisfied with the warmth of this friendship. All love had its boundaries and if theirs was to be confined to shared laughter and quiet, careful mornings, so be it. Even if he never found anyone he wanted like he wanted Sirius, he would survive. Celibacy wasn’t so bad. Lots of his heroes had been celibate. William of Ockham, Bede, Asser, Merlin. Well, there had been that thing with Nimue and nobody really knew about Bede, did they? Anyway.

The problem was, he thought, that he still wasn’t convinced that Sirius would prefer that. It was all very well to be celibate if the person you wanted to be uncelibate with didn’t want to be uncelibate with you but if they were, for peculiar reasons of their own, actually unwilling to be celibate and pretending otherwise, then everything changed.

“Ow.”

Sirius turned, lithe and worried. “What hurts?”

“Nothing. Just giving myself a headache.”

“Prat.”

“S’all your fault, anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah. Blame the dog. Bet you kick puppies, too.”

“Only if their initials are S. B. and they deserve it.”

Sirius grinned and walked back over, cradling the beaker. “You’re waking up.”

“Am I?”

“Yup. It’s obvious.” Sirius set the tea beside the bed and slid an arm around Remus’ shoulders. “Come on. Sit up.”

Remus let Sirius move him and then settled back against Sirius’ warm shoulder. Much better than the pillows. “Why’s it obvious?”

“Here. Drink this.” Sirius curved his hands around the beaker and then chuckled in his ear. “You go through several stages when you wake up. Stage one – you panic. _Where am I, Padfoot? Did I eat anyone’s pet bunny? Did I strip naked in the Great Hall in my sleep? Did I snore?_ Drink.”

Remus eyed the beaker unhappily. It smelt and there were strange, sludgy things floating in it. “What is it?”

“Pain potion. I made it so it’s okay. It’s not like I let Wormtail loose with a cauldron.”

Remus sipped it. It was foul. “I’m not thirsty. I don’t panic.”

“I’m not making tea until you drink it.”

“You brought tea?”

“Because I am a genius. Right, stage two – you get grumpy. Evil little git, you are, in the mornings.”

Remus gulped down the potion, trying not to taste it. “I am not grumpy.”

“I didn’t say bitchy. I could have said bitchy.”

“Fuck off, Pads.” There were bits in the bottom. He closed his eyes and tipped the beaker back.

“See. Stage three is bossy.”

The throb in his shoulder was already fading. He dropped the beaker to the floor and murmured, “Not bossy.”

“You work out exactly what you think you should be doing for the whole day. You plan things. You make timetables. _Padfoot, get out of my way. I’m due to cut my toast in half at eight-oh-two precisely and your antics with the jam are disturbing my schedule._ ”

“Your antics with jam are always disturbing.” He wanted to go back to sleep. He shouldn’t. He should let Sirius out first.

“And then, finally, you wake up and turn into a proper Moony.”

“Does it work backwards? ‘Cause I’m going back to sleep. I am.”

“Are you?”

“Mmm. You should move.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Okay. Thanks for the potion.”

“My pleasure. Hang on. I’m just going to move a bit so you’re not squashing my arm.”

He moved Remus gently but he still winced as his shoulder flared into pain again. Then he was settled against Sirius’ chest, cradled by his legs.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No. Not much. Doesn’t matter.” He pressed his cheek against Sirius’ collar, though he knew the seam would leave a mark.

“It always matters.”

“Better now. How long have I got?”

“Ages.”

“How long have I got?” He could feel the pull of the moon in his blood.

“Five and a half hours.”

He sighed and Sirius folded his arms around him, murmuring, “Don’t think about it.”

“Can’t help it.” Then, because it was only Sirius, and he didn’t have to as brave in front as him as he did with James and Peter, he added, “I don’t want to.”

“I know.”

“I hate it.”

“I know.”

“It’s not okay. It never is.”

“I know.” Sirius was rubbing circles on his belly, through the blanket. “If I could cure it, I would. I’d do anything.”

“I know,” Remus said, smiling a little at the echo. “Don’t deserve you.”

“Deserve better,” Sirius said and his hand stopped.

“That’s crap. I really am going to sleep.”

“I noticed.”

“You should move.”

“Don’t want to.” Sirius tugged the blanket up again. “Go to sleep, Remus. I’ve got you.”

“I know,” Remus murmured and burrowed against Sirius’ neck. “Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.”

And Remus slept.


	14. To Entertain These Fair, Well-Spoken Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have so much love for this prompt. I feel like subtitling this story 'Why I write MWPP-era'. Because, yeah. The morning after the last night of the moon. My favourite so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I go for a three day moon. In January 1979 that's the 11th to the 13th.

“Right,” James said cheerfully. “That’s it for this month. Think the pub’s open yet?”

“It’s not eleven yet,” Remus pointed out, huddling into his coat. He always felt the cold more right after the moon.

Sirius snickered. “And you’re having lunch with Lily’s sister, remember?”

“Oh, fuck,” James muttered. “Evil bitch.”

“Can’t be worse than my relatives, mate. Every time she gets on your knob think of darling Bella.”

Peter snickered.

“Fuck off, Wormtail,” James and Sirius muttered, and then looked at each other and cackled.

Remus smiled and let them bicker. The sun was dazzlingly bright through the forest. They were obviously the first ones out, for the road into Hogsmeade was a sheet of white before them. The trees of the forbidden forest, evergreen and snow-heavy, crowded up the mountainside to their left. To their right, the snow had piled against the low wall between the road and the lake. The air smelt crisp and clean like it never did in London, though every breath stung his lungs.

“You off with the fairies, Moony?” Peter asked and sniggered again.

Sirius slung his arms around their shoulders, dragging them in. “He’d rather get off with a fairy, wouldn’t you, Moo-Moo-Moony?”

Remus, whose hat had slipped down over his eyes, yelped and struggled, slipping on the frozen snow. “Prongs! Help! We’ve been attacked by a prat who thinks he’s funny.”

“He is funny,” Peter said, sounding slightly muffled. “Funny-peculiar. Argh! Argh! Get off me, man!”

Sirius cackled and then shrieked, releasing Remus, who went staggering across the road into a snowdrift. He managed to shove his hat up in time to see Sirius dancing in the middle of the road, yelling, “Out! Out! Out! Out of the trousers!”

James was clinging to a tree on the other side of the road, doubled-up with laughter, and Peter was nowhere to be seen.

Sirius shook his leg wildly, waving his arms for balance and a small, black form shot out of the bottom of his robes. The rat tumbled across the road, and then it rose into Peter, clutching his ribs and wheezing with laughter.

“Not the trousers!” Sirius proclaimed, throwing his arms towards the sky. “Look! Look upon me! Do I look like a man who wants a rat in his trousers?”

Peter collapsed into laughter again. “We all know who you want in your trousers.”

Sirius roared, and Remus, who foresaw considerable violence, scooped up a handful of snow and took aim.

It was a poor excuse for a snowball but he was close enough that it didn’t matter.

Sirius stopped dead as it splattered across the back of his head. Then he turned, with slow menace, and began to stalk towards Remus.

“Bugger,” Remus said and took off at an angle.

James was still staggering in circles. He would provide perfect cover.

Sirius bent and gathered a scoop of snow, eyes gleaming.

Peter, in the middle of the road, rose to his knees, still cackling, and took aim. Unfortunately, he was overtaken by another fit of giggles as he threw. The snowball arched through the air…

…and hit James.

“Argh! What! Oy! Cold! What did I ever do to you, Wormtail! You foul and low traitor! I am innocent, I tell you! Innocent!”

“You?” Remus scoffed, shoving him towards Sirius as he flailed, glasses coated in snow. “Innocent? Of what?” He dived behind the tree as James plowed into Sirius, sending them both staggering. There he set to building up his ammunition. Peter, on the other side of the road, had slid down into the ditch and was at work on a similar task. James and Sirius was still tussling in the middle of the road.  
Remus peered out from behind his tree and caught Peter’s eye. Peter grinned and held up three fingers.

Remus nodded.

On the count of three, they attacked.

Remus got six good shots in before Sirius came bounding at him and he ran for it. Peter had made the fatal mistake of waiting too long and now his face was being firmly scrubbed in the snowdrift. Remus legged it down the road towards Hogwarts, his scarf flapping behind him, the ache of the aftermath of the moon easing as he stretched out human limbs. Sirius gave noisy chase.

The snowball hit him in the back and he spun, diving backwards with a flourish and a hand pressed against his heart. James roared, “Bravo!” and then Sirius was on him.

“Think you can snowball me, do you, Mr Moony?” he panted in Remus’ ear.

“Know it,” Remus said, trying to wriggle out from under him. “I just did.”

Sirius grinned with such sheer, infectious joy that Remus stopped struggling for a moment.

Freezing cold snow was promptly shoved down the front of his trousers. Remus howled and Sirius collapsed on top of him, cackling. Then he was away and Remus went crashing after him, staggering open-legged in the hope he might regain some feeling in his balls.

Peter and James had both vanished. Remus hesitated, suspicious, and hissed, “Padfoot! Ware ambush!”

Sirius dropped to a crouch but it was too late. Peter and James were rising out of hiding and the air was full of snow. Remus, breathless with laughter, seized a snow-coated Sirius by his collar and dragged him to shelter. “Truce?”

Sirius grabbed his hand and shook it vehemently. “I knew I could trust in you. You are a comrade-in-arms, a friend in adversity, a fellow warrior-”

“Sirius, shut up and make snowballs,” Remus said. “And watch out for a sneak attack. You know Pete likes to go rat and creep up behind people.”

“One day,” Sirius said thoughtfully, “somebody will eat him. Then he’ll be sorry.”

“I think in those circumstances we’d all be sorry.”

“Rat heaven or people heaven?”

“What?”

“Where do animagi go when they die? Or does it depend what animal they are at the time?”

“Is that what passes for theology in the decayed matter of your brain?”

“Heh. What if I ate Peter when he was halfway through a transformation?”

“Your preoccupation with Peter’s demise gives reason for concern.”

“You’re in a good mood.”

“I am?” Remus hadn’t really considered his mood. He glanced at Sirius, who was sprawled out beside him, his hair and eyebrows caked with snow. Sirius grinned at him, joy to the ends of his fingers, and he couldn’t help grinning back.

“You’re talking like a textbook. Classic giveaway. Aha! Prongs-hair at two o’ clock. They’re going to charge!”

“Ready the artillery, Gunner Black,” Remus said in the poshest voice he could manage and rose to attack.

In the chaos of wet scarves and boy-limbs and facefuls of snow, he could forget the moon. He could forget the war and the lost children and Sirius’ complications. All there needed to be was his friends and the snow and the urgent, obvious need to strip James Potter and tie him to a tree with his own scarf.

“Now then, now then,” a new voice boomed over them. “Give it a rest. Some o’ us need to get past yeh.”

“Hagrid!” Peter squeaked.

Remus blinked up from where he was jammed into Sirius’ armpit. Hagrid was sitting above them, on the seat of a rickety trap. The pony, up to its hocks in snow, was huffing clouds of breath.

“Thought yeh lot had left,” Hagrid said.

“Bad pennies,” Remus said, even though his chin was buried in the snow. “Can’t keep them from turning up.”

“What are you, then?” Sirius protested.

“A blameless soul, led astray by my wicked friends.”

“Now yer here, could yeh clear out o’ the road? I’ve gotta get down ter Hogsthorpe Farm fer the milk. ‘Less you want a lift down ter Hogsmeade. Could fit four little ones, if Claw squeezes up.”

Remus wasn’t sure any of them would count as ‘little ones’ to anyone except Hagrid but James was already jumping up.

“I’m won’t say no. Need to be in Surrey for lunch.”

“Not staying at the Hog’s Head? Rosmerta does a good roast.”

“No such luck,” James said, aiming a kick at Peter who had started smirking at the word roast. “Lily’s sister. Worst cook this side of Moscow.”

“We could stay, though,” Sirius said cheerfully. “What do you think, lads?”

“Might as well,” Peter said, scrambling up beside Claw. “No rush to get back.”

“Remus?”

He probably ought to make an effort to get home to Bognor. He hadn’t seen his dad for a week. “Actually-”

“Great. Shove up, Prongs.”

They squashed onto the seat of the trap, on the other side of Hagrid from Peter. Sirius, almost squeezed off the end, sprawled across their laps, his head pillowed on Remus’ thigh. Hagrid clucked to the pony and they moved off again, creaking slowly down the lane.

“Got the runners on?” Peter asked.

“Aye. Haven’t seen a winter like this fer years.”

Sirius wound his hand into Remus’ sleeve for balance, smiling up at him. There was snow melting on his eyelashes.

“How’s the term going?” James asked, elbowing Remus.

“Quiet without the lot of yeh. Nice to have a bit of peace.”

“Nobody ever appreciated our genius,” Sirius said.

“Genius, was it? That’s what some might call it. What are yeh doing up here then?”

“Needed to get out of London,” Remus said lightly. “Filthy place.”

“There was a girl,” Sirius said. “A beautiful girl of impeccable talents who was, of course, madly in love with me. The scandal – the town is too hot to hold me.”

“Get on with yeh. And sit up, or yeh’ll go over the edge.”

Sirius sighed and shifted, sitting halfway into Remus’ lap. “No one ever believes a word I say.”

“And whose fault is that?” Peter asked, from the safety of the other side of Hagrid.

“See! Even Peter, my most beloved and trusted friend, doubts me. I am confounded.”

“You’re wrong in the head,” James said amiably.

Hagrid looked down at Remus. “Young Steven was talking about yeh.”

“Steven Yarwood? How is he?”

Hagrid shook his head. “As good as can be expected. Bad business, that. Poor little tyke.”

“Keep an eye on him, will you,” Remus said. He couldn’t quite shift the faint worry over Steven Yarwood being in the same school as Regulus Black.

“Teach yer grandmother, Remus. Claw here’s taken a liking ter him. Handy-like, that.”

“Good,” Remus said.

“Heard yeh and Black were the heroes.”

Remus shifted uncomfortably. “We just did our jobs.”

Hagrid seemed to consider him, his black eyes sharp. Then he said, “There’s plenty who don’t even do that. Here we are. Hog’s Head. Say hello ter Lily fer me, eh, James.”

“Will do,” James said, hopping down. “Thanks for the lift.”

Hagrid nodded. “Any time. Be careful now, all of yeh. Ey, now, Clover. Away.”

Remus lingered outside the pub, watching the trap draw away through the village. Hagrid was just Hagrid. There was nothing odd about him, never had been. All the same…

“Come on, Remus. It’s warm in here.”

He shook his head and followed Peter in. Sirius was already at the bar, flirting with Madam Rosmerta. Remus paused to stamp some of the snow off before he wandered over to join them. He knew how the afternoon would stretch out, with good food, warm drinks and the company of friends. What could be better?


	15. Unless To Spy My Shadow In The Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A note of apology - there's no Remus or Sirius in this one. Those who are following this will have probably realised I'm juggling a fair bit of plot. For that reason, I'll hope you'll forgive me and read this anyway. This is probably the most important piece of plot so far and the second half of the month will be confusing if you haven't read it.

The frost was forming on the outside of the bus shelter, turning the scratched windows translucent. His breath was pluming in the air around him and his fingers were growing numb around his wand. He needed to buy new gloves. There were so many little ordinary things that seemed so hard these days.

He should ask his mum. She needed to get out of the house. The only time she left was when she went to see his father in the home. Dad didn’t remember much these days. The charms and the firewhiskey had seen to that.

Dad didn’t remember Paul. Not any more.

The clock above the church hall began to chime eleven, the sound clear and cold in the night air. Pubs would be kicking out soon. Radcliffe wouldn’t come until the streets were clear again.

He huddled back into the corner of the shelter. The last bus had gone hours ago. There was a empty beer can by his foot, already glittering with frost. The whole place stank of beer and piss and peculiar Muggle rubbish. How could Muggles bear living in such filth?

How long would this last? How many nights like this would there be? How many cold waits for a man already doomed to die?

He remembered Paul. He remembered the man who had laughed and dashed around the house like another child and made terrible puns at every opportunity. He remembered the man who had died just because he married a pretty Muggleborn witch.

Oh, yes, Peter Pettigrew remembered his brother.

They said the Dark Mark rose steaming from the blood of the dead. They said augeries cried over Snowdonia. They said that Grims roamed the streets of London.

He’d never been scared of the Grim.

Now, he stood in a quiet street in Cardiff, waiting for a hunted man.

A group of young men came stumbling down the road, shouting and shoving. Peter slipped backwards into the shadows as one of them began to sing. They were probably just Muggle drunks. He couldn’t be sure. They could work for the Ministry, though Ministry spies were usually more inept. They could be the Dark Lord’s. They could be Dumbledore’s. They could belong to any of the minor factions.

There was a soft scuff behind him and he whirled, tensing around his wand.

“Don’t move!” the other man snapped. “Not an inch.”

“Radcliffe?”

He heard the other man’s breath rush out and then he said, “Let them not live to taste this land’s increase.”

“That would with treason wound this fair land’s peace,” Peter said coolly. “Pettigrew.”

“Are they sending children out these days?”

“Whoever can get the job done. What have you got for me?”

Radcliffe offered him a package. Peter took it with his left hand and stashed it inside his jacket, never relaxing his grasp on his wand.

“That’s all of it. Copies of my reports, everything I could think of. An account of the last few days. Make what you will of it. You’ll get no more from me.”

Peter readied spells in his mind. “Why’s that?”

Radcliffe snorted. “I’ve had enough. Jack Yarwood could hide. I don’t care. I’ve no one left to protect.”

“You have your duty,” Peter said coldly. He’d had two nieces once. They hadn’t been old enough to run. It was past time this war was over.

“Is that how they drag you in these days? Duty? Honour? Morals?”

“Revenge.”

Radcliffe looked at him properly then, a sharp, measuring glance. He was a thin-faced man, his unshaven cheeks sallow with worry. Peter had seen him before, though they’d never been introduced. “You forget all that,” he said. “In the end. I’ve been fighting this bloody war too long. I just wish it was over.”

Peter shrugged. “So do I.”

There was another long silence. No more groups trailed out of the pub. The clouds swayed and parted over the moon, so newly past full.

“Pettigrew, eh? Any relation to Paul?”

“Brother.”

“I remember Paul Pettigrew. Hard luck, kid.”

“I’m not a child.”

Radcliffe snorted. “Right. Got a fag? Haven’t been able to stop long enough for days.”

Peter passed him his tobacco tin and the rolling papers. “Keep them. I can buy more.” Who was he to deny a dying man?

“Cheers.” Radcliffe shoved them into his pocket. “Where’s a fucking distraction when you need one?”

Peter shrugged.

In the distance, the streetlights began to go out.

“Here they come,” Radcliffe said, tensing.

“Go,” Peter said. “I’ll make your distraction.”

Radcliffe pushed out of the bus shelter, running softly down the road. Peter lifted his wand and murmured, “ _Umbraxe_.”

Shadow figures flowed out the end of his wand, moving towards the church. He waited, watching the lights flicker into darkness, the shadow spreading through the cold night towards him. Then he raised his wand and roared, “ _Incendio!_ ”

The church tower exploded into flames. In the roar of it he could barely hear the pop of Radcliffe’s apparition. He paused long enough to see his shadows capering in the firelight and then apparated himself, bracing for the string of jumps which should leave the enemy floundering.

His night’s work was done.


	16. He Capers Nimbly In A Lady's Chamber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andromeda Tonks throws a dinner party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for everyone who asked if Nymphadora was going to appear in this series.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” Remus said as Andromeda closed the door behind them. “Have you seen the snow out there?”

“From inside, thankfully,” Andromeda said, taking their coats. “You both look soaked.”

Sirius, who had dived for the radiator, grinned at her. “All in a good cause. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a snow cloud from the inside.”

“I believe that counts as reason sixty-five Sirius Black won’t live to see forty,” Remus said dryly. “For reference, very wet, very cold and extremely poor visibility. Also, not the ideal conditions for a motorbike.”

Sirius wagged a finger at him. “You’ll hurt her feelings.” The radiator was burning two thin lines into his bum. He was still loath to move.

“Sirius!” Andromeda said. “You didn’t? Not when poor Remus has been ill. What’s wrong with the Floo?”

Remus looked mortified. Sirius thought it suited him, being all pink-cheeked and flushed. Then he said, “I don’t mind Marianne that much, really.”

“Don’t _mind_ her that _much!_ ” Sirius spluttered. “Marianne! My Marianne!”

Andromeda glared at him. “Go and help Ted with the drinks. Remus, come with me. I’ll get you a hot drink.”

“Don’t I get a hot drink?”

Andromeda pointed down the hall. “Go. So, what are the first sixty-four reasons?”

“There’s only one that matters,” Sirius called as she shut the kitchen door in his face. “I’m too beautiful to get old.”

With only the blank door to answer him, he abandoned the radiator and went in search of Ted.

James and Lily were already installed on the sofa. Sirius twisted his eyebrows at James who shook his head gloomily. Sirius sighed heavily and selected a chair to fall across.

“Here’s trouble,” Lily said.

“Wotcher, Sirius,” Ted said without turning round. “Drink?”

“Would I decline your hospitality?” Sirius said expansively.

“Not if he’s offering alcohol,” Lily said sweetly.

“You wound me, Prongette.”

Ted passed him a gin and tonic. “I take it no introductions are required?”

“Sadly not,” James said. “We’ve been suffering for years. Did you drop Remus over Greenwich or something?”

“I’m here,” Remus said, coming through the connecting door, cradling a steaming mug.

Lily jumped up and went over to hug him.

There was a thunder of steps from the hall and Nymphadora Tonks burst in, squealing, “Sirius! Sirius! Sirius!”

He put his drink down hurriedly and held out his arms. “Now here’s trouble!”

She giggled and hurled herself onto him in a flurry of green pigtails and rainbow-coloured ribbons. “I’m not _trouble!_ ”

“No?” Sirius said, tickling her neck. “Must be Lily then.”

“Which one’s Lily?”

“Give you three guesses, pest.” He lowered his voice. “As a hint – she’s the only one who isn’t ugly.”

“You’re silly.”

“Not nearly as silly as your dad, right? How’s school, then?”

“I hate school. It’s boring.”

“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “That won’t do. You know what to do if you’re bored, don’t you?”

“No,” she said, widening her eyes until her face stretched sideways.

“Make things interesting.”

“Sirius Black!” Andromeda roared from the kitchen. “I heard that.”

Sirius sighed mournfully and Nym sniffed and said, “Mummy doesn’t like my trumpet, either.”

“I liked your trumpet.”

“I know that. You bought it, stupid.”

“And the rest of us have been paying ever since,” Ted muttered. “What possessed you, Sirius?”

Sirius grinned. “I never had noisy toys. I thought Nym might like it.”

“It was the bestest Christmas present ever in the world. Shall I get it?”

“No,” Ted said firmly. “Calm down, Nymphadora.”

She sighed but said, “Yes, daddy,” and settled on Sirius’ lap.

“Did you really buy her a trumpet?” Lily asked, looking like she was choking back laughter.

Sirius grinned at her. “I’m just practising. By the time I’m buying for James’ kids, I’ll have thought of something really noisy.”

James made a strangled noise and Lily laughed, though her cheeks had gone pink. “I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, Sirius.”

“Doesn’t he always?” Remus asked.

Nym said, “Oh!” and turned to stare at him.

Remus smiled. “Hello, Nymphadora. Do you remember me?”

She squeaked and buried her face in Sirius’ shoulder, her hair turning brown.

“Oh, dear,” Remus said.

James laughed. “You never were a ladies’ man, were you, Lupin?”

Sirius bent down and whispered to Nym, “You’re not scared of Remus, are you? He’s not scary. I’m much scarier than him.”

She shook her head, still not looking up.

“Shall I tell you a secret about him?” Sirius said, leaning against the top of her head. She smelt like soap and sugar and milk. “He lives with me-”

“Sirius, I don’t actually-”

Sirius glared him into silence. “And do you know what he did this morning? He put orange juice on his cornflakes.”

Nym looked up. “Really?”

“I promise.”

“It was in a _milk_ bottle.”

“It was orange,” Sirius said. “Bright orange, and he didn’t even realise until he took the first mouthful. Funniest things I’ve seen. He looked just like this.” He mimed a face of absolute disgust.

Remus was looking long-suffering.

Andromeda stuck her head out of the kitchen. “Any sign of the others yet?”

Ted shook his head. “They’ve been having problems with their Floo. Frank said they had to dig their way to the shop for the paper this morning.”

“Aren’t the Muggles doing anything to clear the roads?” Andromeda asked.

“It depends where they are,” Lily said. “A lot of public sector workers are joining the strikes now.”

“It’s bad business, that,” Ted said. “Andie, come and sit down. Stick a charm on it and we’ll eat when they get here.”

She sighed and came through to perch on the arm of his chair. “I don’t understand it. Muggle politics confuse me.”

“You and me both, love,” Ted said. “It’s all to do with rates of pay not keeping up with inflation. People are struggling and, even in the Muggle world, government wages are the worst.”

“My Dad’s on the railways,” Lily said. “He’s striking. It’s not so bad for him, now my sister’s married and I’m earning, but a lot of his colleagues are in real trouble.”

“There’s that,” Ted said, “but there’s such a thing as going too far. They’ve got a genuine grievance, no denying it, but they’re asking a lot and the extent of it is too much. I remember the firemen’s strike a few years back. If they and ambulance drivers go again, Voldemort’s lot will take advantage. Folk should let the unions negotiate.”

“But the unions aren’t,” Lily said fiercely. “It’s not about the unions. They’re not doing anything – just laying down for the government to walk over. They’re betraying their members. There wouldn’t be any wildcat strikes if the unions weren’t crap.”

Sirius looked at James who shrugged, and then winced as Lily poked him. “Pay attention. This is important.”

“She’ll take points if you’re not careful,” Remus said dryly.

“Oh, I have much more effective methods now.”

James went pink again.

Nym was staring at Remus from behind Sirius’ arm. Sirius didn’t blame her. He liked staring at Remus too. He was restful, all lean lines and soft hues. There was nothing flashy about him, nothing brash. It was just unthinkable that he would ever break. There was too much strength in him, as quiet and stubborn as his humour.

Nym’s hair was slowly brightening under his chin, almost blue now.

Remus sipped his drink and it left a brown, milky stain on his top lip. Hot chocolate. It always made him contentedly pensive, his eyes lowered and his brows straight with thought. Not that Sirius sometimes bought cocoa for just that reason.

He took what must be the last mouthful and then licked his lip. Then he looked up. He obviously noticed them staring for he dropped a slow wink.

Nym giggled and ducked.

Sirius winked back.

Ted and Lily were still arguing about Muggle politics. Who on earth was Callaghan? James and Andromeda were discussing Quidditch.

The fire flared up and Nym clapped.

Alice Longbottom stepped out, brushing ash from her robes. “Andie, I’m so sorry. Half the chimneys on the way are blocked.”

“Not a word,” Andromeda said, rising to greet her. “Let me take your coat. Frank, dear, how lovely to see you.”

 _Pureblood manners_ , Sirius thought wryly. It took him an effort to avoid them.

Frank had gone straight to Ted, his face worried. Sirius heard him say quietly, “Any word from Radcliffe?”

Ted shook his head. “Not for days. I can’t believe he’d turn on us. Not Alan.”

Andromeda turned and said, “No war talk over dinner. Come through, everyone.”

Nym slid off his lap and ran to open the sliding doors, her legs extending so she could reach the latch at the top. Sirius downed the rest of his drink and walked over to join Remus, his eyes stinging.

“Hot chocolate?” he said. “You merit hot chocolate?”

“I’m a better person than you,” Remus said lightly, smiling at him.

“Old news,” Sirius said, not really joking. “I didn’t realise my secret was out.”

“Only to those who know you well,” Remus said, lowering his voice and leaning forward. “We can read you like a book.”

“A picture book?” Sirius asked. Damnit, what was Remus doing so close? He could feel his hair brushing his cheek.

“Far from it. A book of mysteries and marvels. Some dark, some ridiculous, some written in langauges no one understands. All worth reading.”

Sirius blinked, feeling his cheeks heat.

Lily poked him in the small of the back as she passed. “Will you two stop flirting and come to the table?”

“I’m not flirting,” Sirius protested.

“Aren’t you?” Remus said, and slipped away.

 _What?_

Sirius chased him in. There were only two seats left, one beside Nym and the other opposite, between Alice and Lily. He turned towards Nym, keeping a wary eye on the dishes drifting overhead.

Nym pouted at the sight of him. “I don’t want to sit next to you.”

“Nymphadora,” Andromeda said warningly.

Sirius winced. He’d done a similar thing, at Nym’s age, when he refused to sit beside old Abraxas Malfoy at a family dinner. It had been a week before he could touch a piece of cutlery without pain shooting up his arms.

“I’ll sit with you, Nymphadora,” Remus said.

Andromeda nodded and then met Sirius’ gaze. He scrunched his fingers at her. She winced and said softly, “Another world, love.”

“For which I am ever grateful,” he murmured back.

“Are we missing something?” Frank asked.

“Family history,” Andromeda said. “Sirius, do sit down.”

Alice patted the chair beside her. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, gorgeous.”

“Who’s gorgeous?” Nym demanded.

“Your cousin Sirius, sweetpie.”

Nym wrinkled her nose. “He’s not. He’s silly.”

“Nobody appreciates my glory,” Sirius said. “Do you need a hand, Meda?”

“Just sit, Sirius.”

He relaxed back into his chair. Meda might still refer to cooking as Applied Potions but she produced a damn good spread. Good food, good company and the prospect of a long flight home – what could be better?

James and Lily were talking softly. Ted, Andromeda and Frank were arguing about Barty Crouch. Remus was cutting Nym’s meat for her while she chattered, her shyness gone.

Alice was watching them wistfully.

“The man goes too far!” Andromeda snapped. “He has no regard for the legal protections we’ve struggled to put in place.”

“Dark times, Andie,” Frank said soberly. “I dislike his methods as much as you do but You-Know-Who must be stopped.”

“And then?” Ted said. “We have to think beyond this war. If we destroy our own society, You-Know-Who wins, even if he himself is brought low. There’s a very steep slope down from the moral high ground and Crouch doesn’t seem to care how low we go. He’s a bad thing and I’ve said it before, in private and public.”

“Which is why,” Alice said quietly, “I keep telling you to watch your back. There’s more who agree with him than you.”

Ted snorted. “That’s what’s wrong with the Wizarding World. Too flighty to realise how fragile freedom is. The whole society is rotten through and through. Most wizards seem to think laws are like the rules of Quidditch – doesn’t matter if you break them, as long as you do it with style.”

“Ted,” Andromeda said soothingly.

“Look at this blasted Order of the Phoenix,” Ted continued, stabbing the air with his fork. “Damn masked vigilantes. That sort of haphazard intervention helps no one.”

“Except the people whose lives they’ve saved,” said Alice.

“Those people would be just as safe if this so-called Order had handed their information to the Aurors. They’re undermining trust in our work and that’s lethal. If people won’t seek our help there’s nothing we can do to slow this down. If they want to be of use, they can damn well volunteer to help through official channels.”

“Not everyone’s willing to give their name to the authorities,” Alice started but Frank shook his head at her.

“Ted,” he said. “You’ve complained as much as I have about how hard it is to get a conviction after we make an arrest.”

“That’s not our fault!” Both Lily and Andromeda burst out and then looked at each other sheepishly.

“I’m not saying it is. The truth of it is that they’re just too slippery to leave much trace of their doings. We’re never going to be able to hold people like the Malfoys and the Lestranges. If the Order, by whatever means, can counteract them, they’re doing more than we can.”

Ted glared at him. “And are you happy to see Aurors using Unforgiveables too? That will be next, mark my words.”

“Right,” Andromeda said. “Enough. This is about to turn into war talk and there’s-”

“No war talk at the table,” Sirius recited. “So, the Magpies, then?”

“Don’t be daft,” Alice said promptly. “The Wasps have Bagman.”

Lily sighed heavily beside him. “Quidditch,” she muttered. “Always blooming Quidditch.”

“Arrows!” Nym squeaked, turning pale blue.

“She knows all the team colours,” Ted said proudly.

Later, after dessert, they retired back to the living room. Sirius, who was feeling mellow, dropped onto the floor, leaning against Remus’ chair. If it hadn’t been for the Tonkses and Longbottoms, he would have changed into Padfoot and draped himself over Remus’ feet.

“Bedtime,” Ted was saying firmly.

“I don’t want to.”

“Somebody’s tired,” Remus murmured, his fingertips just brushing Sirius’ shoulder.

“You’ve already stayed up late, Nymphadora. Now it’s time for bed.”

“I don’t want to. I want a story.”

Ted sighed. “Get your book. I’ll read you one story and then bed. Or we won’t let you stay up next time Sirius comes.”

“Don’t want you. Want him.” She pointed at Remus, her lower lip swelling into a vast pout.

“Me?” Remus said blankly as she scuttled off.

She returned, dragging a book which was almost as tall as she was. “Story.”

“Looks like you’ve been nominated, Remus, mate,” Ted said. “You alright with that?”

Sirius looked up in time to see Remus smile, a hesitant curve of his lips. “I think I can manage. What story do you want, Nymphadora?”

She scrambled up Sirius’ side to perch on Remus’ lap. “You choose.”

“Okay.” Remus sounded pleasantly bemused. “Let me see. There’s one about Merlin.”

“I like Merlin,” Nym said.

Behind him Alice was saying to Lily, “We’ve thought about children but it doesn’t seem the right time, with the world being what it is and both of us having such dangerous jobs.”

“Once upon a time,” Remus began, his voice soft and cosy, “in the days when Arthur was king of the Britains, there lived a maiden called Nimue…”

“…have to pretend everything’s normal,” Lily said. “But it’s so hard when you can’t can’t be sure if tomorrow will come.”

“She’ll need her Snitch pajamas, Ted,” Andromeda said.

“…and so Merlin fell in love with Nimue…”

Frank and James had conjured up the illusion of a Quidditch pitch and were discussing tactics.

“Is Sirius asleep?” Andromeda asked. “And who wants tea?”

“I’m awake,” Sirius said. “Milk, two sugars.”

“That’s stupid,” Nym said. “She can’t be in love with _him_.”

“Why not?” Remus asked and nodded at Andromeda.

“He takes his black,” Sirius said. “Want a hand?”

“This time, yes.”

“Because he’s _old_ ,” Nym said scornfully.

“Maybe Nimue didn’t mind,” Remus said, chuckling. Sirius pushed himself up reluctantly.

“And he’s _ugly_.”

“A much more serious problem. Shall I keep reading?”

“Okay. He’s still old, though.”

Andromeda pushed him into the kitchen. “Come on. There’s mugs in the cupboard behind you. Shut the door.”

“Have I earnt a lecture?” Sirius asked, pushing it shut with his foot. Andromeda’s kitchen was heaped with pans and dishes.

“I just want to talk to you. Being the only interfering old bat you’ve got left.”

“What about?” He managed to clear enough space on the table to start setting out mugs.

“Remus, of course.”


	17. And Descant On Mine Own Deformity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andromeda gets some answers out of Sirius.

“What about Remus?” Sirius said warily, turning the mugs round to their handles lined up. What had she found out? Had she guessed about the lycanthropy? Or worked out they were animagi?

Andromeda folded her arms. “Are you still in love with him?”

 _Oh._ Sirius glared back at her. “No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“I can tell, love. You always look me in the eye when you’re lying.”

Sirius scowled. “None of your business, Meda.”

“I’m your family,” she said, matching his scowl. “That makes it my business. What are you going to do about it?”

“There’s nothing to do anything about.”

“Sirius.” She stepped over and laid her hands on his shoulders. “Every time I see the two of you together I can see it. I thought it was fading but it’s come back. Are you still in love with him?”

Sirius sighed and pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “You are not to interfere.”

“Would I?”

“Yes, best of Slytherins, you would. Don’t. Please.”

“Did you ever stop loving him?”

Sirius shrugged helplessly. “Not since sixth year. I don’t know how to stop.”

“Then why aren’t you together? I find him harder to read than you are but it’s obvious that he still cares for you. Even you aren’t dense enough to have missed that.”

“I’m not dense.”

She looked at him thoughtfully, and then nodded. “No, you’re not. You just seem intent on making people believe it, sometimes. So, why aren’t you doing something?”

“He’ll give up,” Sirius said. “Eventually. If I wait long enough. And he’ll find someone better.”

Andromeda reached behind her and then hit him with a dirty ladle. “Imbecile. I never thought you had problems with self-confidence.”

“I don’t. I know what I am. I know what my strengths are. I also know what I’m capable of and he deserves someone better.”

She stepped away so she could look at him. “Is this a blood thing? We’re who we choose to be, Sirius, not who we’re born.”

“I know that,” he said impatiently. “And I’ve already proved that I make stupid choices.”

The kettle was boiling. Andromeda pursed her lips and pointed the ladle at him. “Right. Stay. This is obviously going to last us through the washing up as well.”

“I don’t do washing up,” Sirius said hurriedly, eyeing the door.

“You do in my house.”

“Damn.” He slouched against the side as she made the tea and loaded up a wicker tray with cups. She went through, kicking the door closed behind her. Sirius waited a second before dashing to the other door, which should lead him to the hallway and esacpe.

The handle went red-hot under his hand and he leapt away, yelping.

“Do I look that stupid?” Andromeda asked, coming back in. “Stick that under the cold tap.”

Sirius obeyed. Bloody devious Slytherin. He watched the water run over his reddened hand and tried to work out what to say to her. Through the slats of the blind over the kitchen window he could see the snow falling, a slow swirl of flakes.

Andromeda was sorting plates into piles behind him. After a few minutes, she came over and pulled his hand out. “Still hurting?”

“Can’t feel a thing.”

“Run some hot water, then. You’re washing. I’ll put away.”

He hated washing up. Even the discovery that Andromeda used Muggle washing up liquid didn’t help much.

She didn’t protest when he used too much, though, and the resulting mound of bubbles was better than nothing.

“So?” she said, handing him a pile of plates. “What happened?”

He dunked the plates into the bubble mountain and began to scrub. “I’m trying to work out what I can tell you. A lot of it involves other people’s secrets.”

“Tell me what you can,” she said. Why did she sound pleased?

“Sixth year,” he said. “When I almost got expelled.”

“I never did get a full explanation for that. I always thought that was peculiar of Dumbledore, especially as he dumped you here until the end of term.”

“I didn’t want to go to the Potters.”

“Why not?”

Sirius looked into the night, trying to ignore her reflection. She looked more thoughtful than worried, to his relief.

“I almost got James killed. They didn’t know but, well, yeah. I couldn’t have sat in their house, knowing that. Not until James went home.”

“He was okay, though?”

“Pure luck.” He dumped the plates on the draining rack and went for the silverware. “The only reason I wasn’t expelled was because the scandal would have meant that someone else, who was innocent of it all, would have sent down too. I very nearly got two people killed and one of them I was trying to hurt. Hurt badly. I really wanted him dead, Meda. I can’t pretend I didn’t. And I did worse to Remus than physically hurt him. I betrayed him. I didn’t even think about it.”

Andromeda dried the last plate. “I’m quite ravenous with curiosity now. Not even a hint?”

“No!” Sirius snapped.

“Good,” she said and smiled at him in the reflections. “You’ve learnt from it then.”

“I’ve learnt that I can’t be trusted,” Sirius said savagely and dumped a handful of forks on the rack.

“Sirius, love, you may not have noticed, but you have grown up. Just a little. Remus seems to have forgiven you-”

“He shouldn’t have.”

“That’s his decision. Not yours.”

Sirius grabbed for the carving knife. Rubbing the cloth down it made it gleam cleanly. “You don’t understand. You don’t know why I did it.”

“Can you tell me?”

“Snape – the one I was trying to hurt – he was saying things.”

“Things?”

“About Remus. Revolting little shit. Should have just throttled him. Less consequences.” His hand had closed around the blade.

“Sirius!” Andromeda snapped, pulling her wand out. “Your hand. Drop the knife!”

He was bleeding into the dishwater. Andromeda cast a healing charm as he released the blade, and then pulled the plug out. Sirius watched the pink foam slurp away.

“Idiot,” Andromeda said and hugged him again. “Don’t do things like that. Can I ask what this Snape said? I assume he was Slytherin?”

“Greasiest of the greasy. I can’t tell you, Meda. Sorry.”

“Remus can fight his own battles, love.”

“I know that,” Sirius muttered. “Doesn’t mean he should have to.”

“Oh, Sirius.”

“I don’t always think straight, Meda,” he confessed. “I can’t, not about people I love. I don’t think I’m quite sane on it, really. I don’t know if that’s inbreeding or just me, but I get so angry sometimes. I’m not safe. I don’t think I could stop myself from doing it again. I really don’t.”

She chuckled against his shoulder. “Inherited, I’m afraid. At least you haven’t started branding the house elves yet.” She reached out and twisted the cold tap back on, rinsing the sink. “It can be a good thing. You just have to remember to plan for it.”

“Voice of experience?”

“Maybe.”

“You see, then. You see why I can’t let myself be in love with him.”

“Actually, I still disagree. Sirius, he _forgave_ you. Doesn’t that tell you it would be okay?”

“He only forgave me because worse things were happening in the world.”

“Tell him, Sirius. He won’t give up on you and it helps to have someone watching you, really. It makes all the difference in the world to have someone who can stop you before you lose all sense of proportion. If it wasn’t for Ted, Barty Crouch would have been permanently transfigured into a coat rack years ago, and you and Nymphadora would be visiting me in Azkaban.”

Sirius snorted. “It’s a burden.”

“And you’re not carrying any of his?”

He glared at her. What did she know?

“Haven’t the foggiest,” she said quickly, “but you hover over him like a mother hen. You won’t lose anything by asking, love.”

“He’s my friend.”

“And is this going to strain your friendship worse than whatever you did? Really?”

“Dunno,” Sirius muttered, feeling outmaneouvred. He should know better than to argue with a Slytherin.

Andromeda chuckled. “You know the other aspect of the old family insanity?”

“What?”

She cupped his face in her hands, her lips turning up at the corners. “You, Mr Sirius Obsessive Black, will never get over him. Never, ever, ever.”

“Grand.”

“So? Are you going to do anything about it?”

He tapped her on the nose. “None of your business, Mrs Tonks.”

“Spoilsport. Let me know if you change your mind. Ted and I have another bet on.”

Sirius flung his arms in the air. “Why? Why me? What did I do?”

“Do want the list in chronological or alphabetical order?”

“Funny.” He hugged her. “You’re my favourite cousin.”

“There’s competition? I love you, you daft bastard, even if you are a prat. Now, the baby’s in bed, and it’s time for Firewhiskey.”

“What about the washing up?”

She waved her hand in the air. “That’s what cleaning charms are for.”

“What? You made me…”

“Of course. I needed an excuse to talk to you.”

“ _Andromeda!_ ”

She smiled and pointed her wand at the connecting door. “Keep up, Sirius.”

The others were gathered around the window, the curtains open. Remus turned at the sound of the door, smiling at Sirius. Sirius grinned back helplessly. He wasn’t sure he could quite cope with talking to Remus. Not until he’d had a chance to think. He squeezed in beside him and asked, as naturally as he could, “What are we looking at?”

Remus leant back against his shoulder. “The snow. It’s amazing.”

Sirius resisted the urge to wrap his arms around Remus’ waist and nuzzle. It wasn’t fair. Remus was not allowed to flirt with him until he’d decided on a plan. He wasn’t playing by the rules.

“Look at the snow, Padfoot,” Remus said softly, a smile lurking.

Sirius dragged his gaze away from Remus’ face. Snow, right.

Outside the world was white. Inches of snow coated the lawns and the road, transforming cars into barrows and fences into mountain ranges. He could barely see across the street for the snow whirling closely in the orange beams of the streetlights.

“We ought to go,” Alice said. “We’ll be snowed in by morning.”

“Of course,” Andromeda said. “I can’t remember a winter like this. Not since Sirius was a baby.”

“Sirius,” Ted said quietly. “I think it would be a bad idea not to Floo back. I’ll give you a hand getting the bike in and you can come back for her tomorrow.”

Sirius sighed. He had been looking forward to the flight home. The cold clarity of the high air would have settled his mind a little. On the other hand, Marianne could be a little tempermental about snow and Remus was still moon-pale. There was no point in giving him frostbite.

“Cheers, Ted,” he said and stepped away from Remus reluctantly. He’d think once he was home in his own bed.


	18. Plots Have I Laid, Inductions Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus deliberately sets out to melt Sirius' brain. Oh, and there some gritty plot stuff as well. Bit of a fic of two halves I'm afraid.

“Remus? Remus, wake up.”

Remus muttered and grabbed for the blankets, dragging them over his head. It was still dark. He was in London. He didn’t have to get up in the dark when he was in London.

“Remus. Come on, mate.” A warm hand slid under the blankets and cupped his shoulder, shaking his gently. Mmm. Warm. Sirius.

Remus cracked his eyes open enough to see Sirius’ silhouette above him, his wand glowing. He reached up and wrapped his hand around Sirius’ wrist, tugging him forward.

“Moony,” Sirius said hoarsely, resisting the pull. “Wake up.”

“Early.”

“We’re on call. Wake up.”

Remus sat up, blinking at Sirius. The blankets slid down to his waist and he whimpered at the cold on his bare skin and burrowed down again.

Sirius said sharply, “Don’t go back to sleep. Why aren’t you wearing anything?”

“Cause I’m in bed,” Remus said, biting back to urge to add something sarcastic. He had a plan. It was even working, if Sirius’ increasingly wild-eyed looks were anything to go by.

“Pajamas!” Sirius said. “You have pajamas! Stripey ones! Blue and white and stripey!”

“I didn’t feel like wearing them,” Remus said, smiling at him. Then he stretched, deliberately arching backwards until the blanket slid down towards his hips.

“Tea!” yelped Sirius. “Made you tea! Wake you up! Hyde Park! Half an hour.”

“Thanks,” Remus said cautiously. Sirius’ cups of tea were either perfect or atrocious. He sat up, swinging his legs out of the bed.

Sirius fled.

Remus picked up his tea and sipped it carefully. It was one of the perfect ones. Today was going well so far. He wasn’t going to think about what might be waiting in Hyde Park. Not until he was awake.

He thought about Sirius instead. Sleeping naked could obviously stay on the list. He wondered if he could find a seductive way to drink tea. There was nothing like killing two birds with one stone.

He took another sip, letting the flavour linger on his tongue. Better not. Some things were sacred.

The project seemed to be going well. It would involve shouting before he was done, of course, and quite possibly slammed doors and thrown ornaments and intervention by James or Lily. He didn’t care. He had had enough. After New Year and that morning last week and then, most of all, the moon, he had made his decision. Sirius was not, despite all his pretence, indifferent for him. Remus thought that, maybe, when he’d brought Sirius back to his senses, he’d be quite angry about those wasted months. For the moment, though, he had to focus.

Now he was looking again, he could see Sirius’ feelings in everything he did. Of course, being Sirius, that didn’t mean he’d admit it or even deal with whatever irrationally noble reason he had for being stubborn.

So Remus would just have to seduce him.

He would have to do it carefully. If he was too obvious Sirius would bolt. He would have to just wear away at his defences until he was too flustered to resist.

He thought he’d made a good start at Andromeda’s party the night before last. He made an effort to keep touching Sirius all day yesterday. He loved the way Sirius’ eyes widened when he was fighting temptation and the little flush that appeared high on his cheekbones. He’d seen that blush before, when Sirius was lost in his touch, and he missed it.

He had slipped his hand down beneath the blanket without realising it. With the memory of Sirius in the front of his mind, he sank back onto the bed, wrapping his hand around his hard cock. He remembered Sirius grinding against him, eyes half-closed with concentration and lips parted. He remembered the way his hair, sweat-wet, had clung to both their foreheads and the way he had tasted.

His door swung open and Sirius burst in. “Moony, do you want – erk.”

Remus forced down his immediate instinct to hide behind his mug and said, “Want what, Padfoot?”

Sirius grabbed the door frame, and squeaked, “Toast! Toast! You – toast – want?”

“Mmm,” Remus mumbled. “I don’t think so. I think I need to wake up a little more. No, definitely no toast. But thank you for offering.”

“I-” Sirius started, waving his free hand in front of his face. “I- um. Going to go.”

“Thank you for the tea,” Remus said, to keep him in the room. “It was – lovely.”

“Tea?” Sirius whispered.

“I’d love another cup if you’re making more.” Remus pushed his hips up, as blatantly as he could, and let his head tip back. “My mug’s right here.”

The door slammed shut behind Sirius. Remus sighed wistfully and began to pump his fist. It didn’t feel as good without Sirius watching.

He came quickly, in a bone-melting rush, and had to force himself out of bed to clean himself off and find some warm clothes. The frost had come down before he was asleep last night and Hyde Park would be chilly.

Sirius was in the kitchen, leaning into the fridge, shoulders shaking.

Remus blinked at his back. “Have we run out of milk again?”

Sirius turned to glare at him reproachfully. After a moment he said, “Moony.”

“How long have we got?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Damn,” Remus muttered. “I wanted more tea. Have you seen my shoes?”

“They’re beside the sofa,” Sirius said accusingly. “Where you kicked them off. While you were reading.”

“Thank you,” Remus said and deliberately brushed past him on his way out of the kitchen. By the time he returned, shoes in hand, Sirius had closed the fridge and was leaning against the row of magnets, eyes closed. Remus did his laces up and then looked at him, doing his best to sound puzzled as he asked, “Padfoot? Are you alright? You seem a little distracted.”

Sirius gaped at him. Remus amended his mental list again. Anything that could shut Sirius up this thoroughly was worth repeating.

Sirius was still silent when they Apparated from the stairwell.

They arrived in the middle of the park. The snow was crunchy beneath their feet and the air was still. Remus could see the bare trees straining into the flat, white sky.

Alice Longbottom ushered them through the Disillusionment charm, her face grim. “Keep clear of Ted, my lovelies. He’s raging. Go and see the body and then get tracking charms going. We need a record of every creature that passed through here tonight.”

Sirius was staring around, wide-eyed. “What happened here?”

The ground was strewn with feathers, red and orange and yellow, some as short as his finger, some as long as his arm.

“We’re working on it,” Alice said sharply.

“Who is it?” Remus asked, dreading the answer.

Alice set her lips and then said, “Alan Radcliffe. He was Jack Yarwood’s partner.”

“One of us,” Sirius said, voice hard.

Alice hunched her shoulders unhappily. “Probably. There’s a chance, just a chance, that he sold out Yarwood. He’s been on the run for weeks. Due to contact us tomorrow. He can’t tell us now. Now, go on. Get a move on. We need to get the scene cleared before the Muggles realise something’s up.”

Sirius nodded and began to pick his way through the feathers. Remus followed him, thinking. Did this have anything to do with the Order of the Phoenix? They couldn’t be phoenix feathers – there were too many of them. He crouched down to look, lowering his wand for extra light, and saw the smudge of dye on the quill. Goose or turkey, then.

Sirius was waiting for him. The floating white lights blanched the colour from him, recasting him in monochrome, fierce and impatient.

“Dyed feathers,” Remus said apologetically in explanation.

Sirius nodded sharply and turned towards the body.

For a moment Remus thought that somebody had painted red wings beneath Radcliffe’s corpse. Then he realised it was blood. Radcliffe’s throat had been cut.

“Damn,” Sirius muttered. “That’ll mask any scents.”

Remus shuddered. He couldn’t see the dead man’s face. It was completely hidden behind a mask of fire-hued feathers.

“That’s what the Order of the Phoenix wear,” Sirius said softly. “The mask.”

“How do you know?” Remus said, worried. He thought he knew what Sirius was doing with his life these days.

“Because, unlike some people, I don’t just buy _The Prophet_ for the crossword. Map?”

“It’s what we’re good at.” Remus dug into his bag for parchment and a pen. Doing the Marauders’ Map had taught them that biro worked best for the preliminary spells. They wouldn’t need any of the fancy flourishes here. “You draw, I’ll charm.”

“Let’s move back a bit,” Sirius murmured. “I need a tree to lean on.”

He found one and Remus provided a light and then stood behind his shoulder, preparing the words of the spell. Sirius pressed the pen to the page, and Remus started the first spell.

As Sirius sketched trees and paths, glancing quickly at the land around them, they grew on the page, gathering inky detail as Remus slowly released the spell. When the landscape was complete, he ducked to his knees and shoved his hand down through the snow.

Sirius crouched beside him, laying the sketch flat. Remus dragged a handful of soil out of the snow, readying his wand. As he dropped the soil they both hissed, “ _Describio!_ ”

The soil sank into the page, vanishing. For a moment there was only ink and parchment. Then the page burst into colour, little flashing dots for everyone there. There were no names on this but every person there was marked in a different colour.

“Need to do a retrospective,” Sirius muttered, chewing his lip.

“All yours,” Remus said. “I’m crap at time spells.”

“That’s because you always set them to match the moon. Let’s see.”

The page flashed white and then a thin line of footsteps appeared from the edge, two sets of pawprints dancing around them swiftly.

“Twelve hours back,” Sirius said. “Walking the dogs after work.”

“Nice,” Ted said, behind them. “How long will it take to run in full?”

“About six hours,” Sirius said ruefully. “It’s only an ordinary bit of paper.”

“Get back to Headquarters and monitor it. Cover each other’s breaks so you don’t miss anything. I want notes on everything that’s crossed this ground since dusk.”

“Not before?” Remus asked.

“Frank’s sweet-talking the Muggle park keeper. Nothing they noticed on their last round through here. These people weren’t trying to be subtle, whoever they were.”

“What do you think the feathers mean?” Sirius asked. Remus wasn’t sure if that was just recklessness or the confidence that Andromeda would be irritated if Ted hexed him.

Ted scowled. “Don’t have a fucking clue, mate. I needed Radcliffe’s report. I’ll tell you something, though – I always wondered if Radcliffe was in the fucking Order. Bloody reckless wanker.”

“Had you known him long?” Remus asked.

“Almost fifteen years,” Ted said bitterly. “Fifteen years and he never learnt when it was better to keep running. Bastard.” He looked older than his years, worn and hollow.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said awkwardly.

“Nothing you could do about it, mate. Now get that map back.”

Remus pushed back to his feet and met Sirius’ gaze.

Sirius nodded grimly, cradling the page.

Then they Apparated, in the same breath.


	19. Why, I, in this weak piping time of peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Curry Night again. Lily is losing patience. Remus' toes are freezing off. Peter needs a date.

Peter wandered out of the kitchen, dropping a beer onto Remus’ stomach. Remus moved too late to catch the bottle and so huffed as it landed. “Ow. Watch where you’re dropping things.”

“Rank ingratitude,” Peter said, flopping back into his chair. “You can get your own next time.”

“Can’t,” Remus said sleepily. “I’d have to move Sirius and he’s asleep.”

Empty takeaway cartons were scattered across the floor. The air was warm and smelt heavily of curry. Lily and James were entwined on the sofa. Peter was propped on one chair and Remus was sitting sideways on the other. Sirius was sitting on the floor in front of him, head thrown back against Remus’ hip as he snuffled sleepily.

“Fair point,” Peter said. “Does he always sleep with his mouth open?”

“You shared a dorm with him too.”

“I spent less time staring at his mouth.”

Remus gave him the finger and leant back against the arm of the chair again. His feet were cold and his belly was still warm from the curry. He’d got three hours sleep last night, before they were called in to follow a trail that led nowhere, and had worked from four am until late yesterday. Things were beginning to seem a little hazy. The beer probably wasn’t helping.

Lily giggled breathlessly and said, “James.”

“Get a room,” Peter said. “Moony, are these still the peanuts from New Year?”

“I have a room,” James said indignantly. “I have lots of rooms.”

“Where?” Lily asked incredulously, propping her elbows on his shoulders. “I thought your parents got rid of the guest rooms.”

“Er,” James said.

Remus looked at Peter, who was pretending to be fascinated by the peanuts. Remus looked for the nearest thing to be fascinated with and found himself staring at Sirius. A lock of hair had fallen forward along his nose, and it was stirring with every breath. Neither of them had had time to shave that morning and his cheeks were rough and dark. The right sleeve of his robe was still tied in a knot from when he had lost patience with it dipping in his ink. Only Sirius could make it all look dashing.

“Really,” Lily said, her voice rising, “all I want is to know what’s going on.”

“Nothing’s going on,” said James.

Sirius’ eyes blinked open, as if he could feel Remus’ gaze. He drew a breath and Remus reached down to touch his lips lightly, demanding silence. Sirius breathed out softly, staring up at Remus.

“So, what’s the secret?” Lily demanded, pushing herself up. “What is it that none of you will tell me? You’re not subtle, James Potter.”

James sighed and reached for his hair, before letting his hand drop. Then he said soberly, “Can I talk to you in the kitchen, love? There’s something I need to ask you.”

Sirius’ eyes widened. Peter crouched lower over the peanuts. Remus pretended to be asleep.

Lily huffed. “Fine.”

Remus watched her stalk by from under his lashes. James followed, making a weird hand gesture at them. He closed the door behind them.

Sirius sat bolt upright and hissed, “Is he going to?”

Peter clutched his bowl of peanuts. “He’s never got this close.”

“It’s hardly romantic, is it?” Remus said and Sirius poked him in the ribs.

“Who cares about romance. He just has to ask before the suspense sends me to an early grave.”

“Shut up!” Peter whispered. “I’m trying to eavesdrop.”

Sirius motioned zipping his mouth shut, tapping his fingers on his thigh impatiently.

There was a shriek of pure rage from the kitchen. They all heard Lily scream, “Will you stop talking about fucking mustard! It’s not funny!”

“Lily-”

She slammed out of the kitchen, snapping, “Peter! Move.”

“Why?”

“I want your chair.”

Peter sidled across to the sofa and Lily hurled herself backwards in the chair, glowering. James crept out of the kitchen, dangling a beer before him in appeasement. Lily turned her head and said, icily polite, “How are you, Sirius?”

“Me?” Sirius yelped. “Fine.”

James sank onto the sofa beside Peter and began to gaze at her imploringly.

Lily crossed her arms. “Remus, aren’t your feet cold? Where are your socks?”

“They’re fine,” Remus said defensively. His toes were so cold they hurt but he knew that Sirius liked his feet. If he had to get frostbite to tempt Sirius back, so be it.

Sirius turned his head. “They look freezing.” He reached out and wrapped his hand around Remus’ left foot. “Bloody hell. Did you not notiuce it was snowing?”

“I’m fine,” Remus protested and then yelped as Sirius grabbed both his feet and swung him round. His knees ended up over Sirius’ shoulders and his feet brushed Sirius’ lap. Sirius folded his arms over them, muttering, and Remus protested weakly, “Sirius!”

“You’re not getting frostbitten in my flat, you prat.” Sirius lent back between his thighs, glaring at him.

Remus was not worrying about frostbite. The weight of Sirius’ hands was having an effect and he shifted in his chair, trying to discreetly readjust his trousers.

“And you, Peter,” Lily continued. “Have you had a good week?”

“Not bad,” Peter said warily. Then he hesitated. “Actually, I need a favour from somebody.”

“Yeah?” Sirius said.

“I’ve got a spare ticket to see _Richard III_ tomorrow.”

“I thought you were taking Emmeline Vance,” James said. “You went on about it enough.”

“She’s sprained her ankle,” Peter said. Then he shrugged. “That’s what she said anyway. Could be an excuse. I’ll feel a right twat going on my own, though. I don’t know anything about muggle theatre.”

Lily shot a cold glance at James and then tossed her hair. “I’ll come with you, Peter. I’m not doing anything tomorrow and I love Shakespeare.”

Peter looked at James and flinched. James sank further into the corner of the sofa, scowling. Peter gulped and said, “That would be lovely, cheers, Lily. It’s at the National at eight. Shall I come and meet you.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Lily said and smiled dreamily. “Who’s playing Richard?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said. “It was all Emmy’s idea.”

James stood up, knocking over several empty bottles. “I’m going home.”

“Pooh Corner,” Remus said demurely, and James snarled, flapping his hands at him.

Lily sniffed. “I’d be more convinced you weren’t pranking me if you didn’t have code words.”

“I’m not pranking you!” James shouted. “When was the last time I pranked you?”

“Christmas Eve. With the mistletoe.”

James blushed. “That wasn’t _supposed_ to end like that.”

“Take it somewhere else,” Sirius said firmly. “Unless you want to use the spare room for something.”

Peter blinked. “Isn’t Remus sleeping in the spare room?”

“Sofa’s comfy too,” Sirius said sagely. “Doesn’t even smell funny any more.”

James stomped towards the fire. “Thanks, but no thanks. After you, Miss Evans.”

Lily swept forward. “You are too kind, Mr Potter. Worplesdon Station.”

As the fire died behind her, James turned round. “You lot are not helping. At all. And as for you, Wormtail...”

“I’ll be repulsive,” Peter promised quickly. “And I’ll talk about you all the time, I promise.”

“In a repulsive way?” Remus inquired.

Peter cackled. “That’s more your line of action, mate. Seriously, Prongs, give her a day to calm down.”

“And then just bloody well ask her,” Sirius said, fingering Remus’ ankle.

James gave them another injured stare and made his exit.

“Right,” Peter said. “Need a hand with the cleaning up?”

“Nah,” Sirius said. “Got all weekend.”

“I won’t be here to help,” Remus said anxiously.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I can put stuff in a bin without you. Night, Wormtail.”

Remus waved as Peter muttered at the fire. Sirius still had his ankle. He probably ought to do something daring and seductive, now they were alone. He was too tired to move, though, and Sirius was relaxed and happy below him. He closed his eyes and tried to keep his toes from curling into Sirius’ palm.

Sirius leant his head on Remus’ knee. “Bloody awful day.”

“Bloody awful couple of days,” Remus said, and cupped his hand around Sirius’ head.

“Mmm. Dead Aurors. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“Fancy a change of career?”

“Nah.” He was running his fingers down his soles now, slow and thoughtless. “Just wonder if there’s anything more we could do.”

“Going to sign up for the Order of the Phoenix?”

Sirius snorted. “They don’t seem to have a recruitment office.”

“Padfoot.”

“Dunno. Something like that, maybe. I don’t know where to start.”

Remus tangled his fingers in soft hair. “Be careful. Nasty things happen around them. These murders are – disturbing.”

Sirius leant right back and smiled at him. “I’ve got you to be careful for both of us. You’re with me, right?”

“Always,” Remus said, “but two careful people are better than one.”

“Mmm.” He was drawing circles over the top of his feet now.

Remus stared down at him. He was so breath-taking, draped loosely against the chair, eyes and expression soft with sleep. He drew a breath and then let it out, beginning to understand how James felt. Then he summoned his courage and said, “Sirius?”

“Remus.”

“I’m a little bit drunk and I’m pretty certain I’m sleep-deprived. So I’m feeling a little reckless.”

“You want to play urban Quidditch?”

Remus ignored him. “I’m about to do something we might both regret. You have about thirty seconds to stop me.”

He lifted his legs slowly, feeling Sirius’ hands slide away. Then he climbed out of the chair and dropped to his knees, straddling Sirius. Sirius stared at him from a few inches away, his eyes wide and his breath coming fast.

“Remus?” he whispered.

Remus kissed him.

Sirius sighed under his lips and then his mouth opened. He tasted of beer and spices and Remus fell forward against him, too dizzy to stay upright. Sirius wrapped his arms around him and sank against the seat of the chair, pressing the kiss back with hot force. Then he broke away.

“Remus,” he said.

Remus kissed him again and he moaned, arching against him. Then he dragged his mouth right away. “Remus. Enough. We can’t.”

“Why not?” Remus demanded. “We both want to.”

“It’s not safe.”

“For whom?”

“You. I’ll hurt you.” He buried his face against Remus’ neck. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Remus stared down at the top of his head, annoyance warring with affection. “You won’t hurt me.”

“I did.”

“So you know better now.”

“It’s not worth the risk.”

“I don’t think that’s just your choice.” He slipped his hands inside Sirius’ robes, seeking warm skin. He found his hip, hard strength beneath soft skin, and stroked. “Please.”

Sirius gasped and jerked against him. Then he stilled and said, quietly, “No.”

Bloody stubborn prat. Remus took a deep breath, trying to ignore the heat throbbing through him, and managed to produce a calm tone. “In that case I consider it only fair to warn you that I shall be trying everything I can to seduce you.”

Sirius’ head snapped up. “Moony!”

“Padfoot,” Remus said gravely, and nibbled his ear.

“I won’t let you,” Sirius blurted out. “I can resist.”

“Really?”

“Definitely.”

“So it’s a challenge?”

Sirius gulped and then lifted his head. “Yes. May the best man win. Shake on it.” He let go of Remus, dangling his hand before his face.

Remus sat back reluctantly and shook. “Seal it with a kiss?”

“No!” Sirius shoved to his feet, stumbling towards his bedroom. “I’m going to bed.”

Remus chuckled. “Can I come too?”

“No!” Then he hesitated. “Git. You said that just to get a reaction.”

“It worked.” He’d spooked Sirius enough. Let him brood on the idea for a while.

“Goodnight, then.”

Remus smiled up at him lazily. “Enjoy your dreams.”

Sirius whirled into his room. Remus chuckled and closed his eyes. Life seemed to getting a little better.


	20. The Reality Checkpoint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A 'missing scene' filling in a little of the boys' time following up leads in Cambridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Written for:** . Thanks to for the beta.  
>  Um, the lamp-post is real and can be found on Parker’s Piece. Michaelhouse was one of the colleges dissolved by Henry VIII so that he could form Trinity College.

The lamp-post had the words ‘Reality Checkpoint’ painted around its base. Around it, the fog smudged out everything beyond, so it seemed like the paths that crossed here had led their way out of nothingness. There was a city out there somewhere, full of life and traffic, but right now it seemed to Remus that he really was caught between realities, like the place where you hung when a portkey jammed.

It probably didn’t help that he was so tired that he could barely feel his feet touching the ground and so cold he didn’t think his fingers would bend any more.

A black dog came loping out of the fog, pausing by the lamp-post to lift a leg, grinning toothily.

“That stopped being funny years ago,” Remus said wearily.

The dog blurred up into Sirius, who shoved his hands into his pockets and smirked. “Really?”

Remus eyed him sourly. “Just because you still find it funny, doesn’t mean anyone else does.”

“Prongs always laughs.”

“That proves nothing,” Remus said, blowing on his hands.

“Where’s your gloves?” Sirius asked, voice suddenly sharp.

Remus put his hands in his pockets and tried to hold back a sarcastic look. _Yes, Sirius,_ , he thought, _we’re just_ friends _. You don’t fret over me every moment of the day, oh, no. Course not._

“Moony?”

“I don’t know,” Remus said. “Somewhere on your floor, probably. Padfoot, we’re not in Cambridge to talk about gloves.”

Sirius grinned. “I found the city.”

Remus sighed with relief. “We are never, ever going to admit to anyone that we lost it, are we?”

“Never,” Sirius avowed, wincing. They’d been stumbling around this bit of park for half an hour. Parks really shouldn’t be allowed in the middle of fog-prone cities.

They set off through the fog. Every breath Remus took stung his lips. Behind them, the lamp-post faded out of view, and the fog grew darker around them. Remus sighed, watching his breath merge into the fog. They had been travelling for hours, following the trail of a murdered man. Now Moody had sent them here, to tell a girl that her cousin was dead and to interrogate her about his last movements.

Lucy Radcliffe had not been in her digs just off Mill Road, but a disgruntled housemate had hung out the window and, after telling them to fuck off until a civilised hour, had admitted that Lucy had a boyfriend in Michaelhouse. It had taken considerable flirtation from Sirius, and Remus flashing his Auror’s identification, before he had parted with the name of the boyfriend.

Maybe it was yesterday’s murder, or the leeching effect of the fog, but Remus was finding it hard to appreciate Cambridge. The narrow roads full of terraced houses felt grim and grey and Mill Road, full of dirt and discount shops and restaurants from every corner of the world, felt like London without the energy.

Or it could just be that he was grumpy from sleep deprivation.

“Am I a morning person?” he asked out loud.

Sirius honked with laughter and threw an arm around his shoulders. “Can Celestina Warbeck actually hold a tune?”

“There’s no need to be that rude about it,” muttered Remus. Sirius’ arm was warm around his shoulders, and if he was to do this flirtation thing right he should probably lean into it and say something, but he was feeling too cold to be manipulative. Why couldn’t the war just stop, so they could all live normal lives and not have to get up in the middle of the night? Of course, if the war did stop, he’d probably be out of a job, because the Aurors had only taken him in the first place because they were getting killed so fast that his furry little problem probably wouldn’t matter for long.

“Moony,” Sirius said expansively. “You get out of bed on the wrong side so often that there’s actually a dent in the wall.”

“Thanks,” Remus muttered.

“Though you should probably perk up a bit. Been up for hours now.”

“We’ve been up for hours and it’s still _dark!_ ” Remus snapped.

“Who needs a regular sleep pattern?” Sirius asked. He looked at home in the fog, all shadowy colours and wild excitement. At some point tonight, Remus knew, Sirius would just stop, midway through a sentence, and would sleep like a dog, sprawled out and easy.

“I do.”

Sirius snorted and suddenly pounced. One hand went into Remus’ coat and he yelped and wriggled at the blast of cold. The other cupped his cheek and Sirius said, “Hah! That’s why you’re grumpy.”

 _What?_ Remus thought, _Because you want to shag me and won’t? Or because I can’t stand being with you all the time and only being your friend?_

“You forgot your warming charms again,” Sirius said and warmth spread out from his hands, rippling through Remus until his breath quickened. “Honestly, mate, what would you do without me?”

“Freeze to death in an alley somewhere, no doubt,” Remus said dryly, and now he was warm he could lean in and soften his voice. “Of course, that’s the _only_ reason I keep you around.”

Sirius blushed, and whipped his hand out of Remus’ shirt. He said, obviously flailing, “But, Moony, I thought you loved me.”

Remus gaped at him, speechless, and the longer he hesitated the worse the silence got.

“Er,” Sirius said, backing away. “Cambridge. Um, Michaelhouse. Strange place, y’know, all old and full of, er, scholary people. Funny that, because…”

The fog was thick. Three steps would let him push Sirius off the path and out of sight of any passers-by.

“…knew a girl who lost her knickers in the Fellows’ garden,” Sirius was blathering.

But the ground was hard with frost and Ted would _kill_ them if they got distracted, so Remus just gritted his teeth before saying tactfully, “Shall we get going, then?”

When they emerged from the park, it still didn’t look much like his mental picture of Cambridge, but there was a handy map on a sign on the corner. Sirius leapt over towards it, casting nervous glances in his direction, so Remus stood a little closer than he should have done to study it. He was feeling better.

The road they were in seemed to change names every few hundred metres, but it would get them closer to the colleges. It didn’t show Michaelhouse, of course, but Sirius was able to point at the general area.

They started up the road, watching college gates and pub fronts emerge out of the mist. Several newsagents were shut, with signs in their windows announcing, ‘No milk’ or ‘Out of bread.’ A newspaper sign proclaimed, ‘Nurses strike too!’

“D’you think she’ll know anything?” Sirius asked.

Remus shrugged. “Probably not, but it would be daft not to ask.”

He got a heavy sigh in return. “I hate plodding.”

“We could run,” Remus suggested.

He got a glower in return.

They almost got lost again outside the Robert Sayle department store. Remus had to go hunting for a sympathetic old lady to get directions, but they soon found themselves heading down a side road towards the main market square.

The market was quiet, but some of the traders had managed to arrive despite the strikes. They wandered across the middle of it, surrounded by bright fabrics and unhappy-looking vegetables, flowers and knock-off college scarves. Remus veered off towards a second-hand book stall, and had to be reeled back in by his scarf.

“Ted _will_ know,” Sirius said firmly and marched him off.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Remus asked suspiciously.

“Course I do!” Sirius protested. “We go past Fat St Mary’s and up some Roman geezer’s back passage and then past a college named after some bird’s tit and then the entrance to Michaelhouse is hidden on the corner.”

“You haven’t got a clue, have you?” Remus protested, letting Sirius tow him past the church.

Then King’s Chapel came looming out of the mist and stole his breath. He stopped dead, staring at it. It was too huge to make sense, and his brain kept insisting it was an illusion, even as he watched people walk by. It would take five of him to even reach the bottom of the window.

“I reckon the architect was compensating for something,” Sirius said and dragged him right. “Come on.”

Remus spluttered, but then Sirius jerked to a halt again. He was staring at the railings around the church. The railings were adorned by a row of gloves, all stiff with frost.

“Why do people _do_ that?” Sirius demanded.

“Dunno. Muggle tradition?”

Sirius snorted, shaking his head, and loped over to pluck two gloves off the ends of the rails. “Here you go, mate. Can’t have you going round without gloves all day.”

“But they belong to someone!” Remus protested. One of them also had Mickey Mouse on it, but that was a problem which involved far too much explanation. He doubted that anyone in the House of Black had ever heard of Disney (except Andromeda, of course, but she, like Sirius, was an exception to every rule).

“So?” Sirius said impatiently. “They obviously don’t want them. Put them on.”

Remus was still smiling as they walked up Senate House Passage (and, all right, maybe Sirius wasn’t talking _complete_ bollocks), dodging mad cyclists as they came swooping out of the mist. His left hand was encased in pink wool, and his right hand in blue fleece, complete with grinning mouse. Sirius’ hand was still gripping his arm, and he was warm.

As they huddled against the wall and waited for Michaelhouse to open up before them, Remus reflected that although this was likely to be a dreadful day, at least he would be spending it in good company.


	21. I Am Determined To Prove A Villain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Lily go to see _Richard III_ , but there are Death Eaters in the audience and things aren't about to get complicated...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title and quotes from _Richard III_. I've taken one small liberty with history. There was a performance of _Richard III_ at the National in 1979 but not until October. And I've not checked the actual cast list, for obvious reasons.

Waterloo Station was eerily quiet. With such a limited service running, the usual commuter rush had vanished. There were only the pigeons fluttering in the roof, and the crackle of a radio from the tea stand on the great concourse. It was cold, the clear roof shadowed with snow, and Lily shivered and pulled her smart coat around her more closely as she left the Floo office in the south-east corner of the station. The click of her heels echoed, and she found herself scanning the concourse, warily, her wand not far from her hand. She didn’t quite trust quiet places any more.

But here was Peter bustling over the bridge, waving cheerfully. He was wrapped in a long beige coat and a faded red muffler. He beamed when he saw her and waved again.

Lily clicked along the station to join him. “Evening.”

“Alright, Lily? I’ve got the tickets, and we’ve got ages. How far is it? I have a map.” He brandished it.

Lily rolled her eyes. “Do you apparate everywhere, Pete? It’s really close. Follow me.”

“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he said and shoved the map back into his pocket.

As they had time to spare, Lily took them through the Shell building and then down onto the riverbank. She didn’t like the warren of underpasses that led directly from Waterloo. There were too many corner and too many shadows.

On the embankment, the snow had been cleared away. The tide was high and Lily could see flecks of ice in the river shining in the lights from the buildings.

“About Prongs,” Peter said hesitantly.

Lily’s mood plummeted. “I’m not interested.”

“He means well. Really.”

“Then he has to talk to me. Himself. Not ask you.”

“He didn’t,” Peter said sharply. “I’m his friend.”

“Then leave it. He has to start trusting me or-” She took a breath and stopped herself. “I really don’t want to discuss it, Pete. James and I have to sort it out. I need a few days to be sure I won’t start screaming at him the moment we try to discuss it. So, _Richard III_.”

Peter sighed and then shrugged. “Fine. Do you know what it’s about, then?”

“ _Peter!_ ”

“What?”

“It’s famous.”

“So what’s it about then?”

“Um.” Damn. “There’s this king and his brother, I think. Er. And the brother schemes behind everyone’s back until he becomes king and there’s a battle at the end. And it’s Shakespeare, so probably everyone ends up dead.”

“Famous, is it?”

“Oh, shut up, you.” Lily laughed.

Peter chuckled, and shifted his shoulders slightly. They had to walk under another bridge, and she knew he was readying his wand, just in case.

They came out in front of the bold, concrete blocks of the new theatre with no incident. They both paused to look at it, lit up against the night sky.

“That is the ugliest building I have even seen,” Peter said, with a note of awe in his voice.

“It’s supposed to be striking,” Lily offered. “It’s modern architecture.”

“I think I prefer old-fashioned. Bar’s open – you want a drink?”

Lily grinned, following him in. “Yes. Then you can tell me all about what’s going on with you and Emmy Vance.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Peter said flatly.

They left their coats in the cloakroom and went through into the bar. Everyone seemed very smart, and Lily was glad she had worn her smartest dress. She smoothed the brown crushed velvet over her knees nervously.

“Chin up,” Peter murmured. “You’re a Gryffindor. What are you drinking these days? White wine?”

“If we’re being posh. Dry.”

“Nab a corner, then.”

There were no spare seats but there was space enough for her to lean against the wall and study the people around her. They seemed to be a mixture of young people, in flowing, decorative outfits, and stiffly dressed older enthusiasts. Behind her a woman with a nasal voice was talking about the patriarchial lexis.

On the far side of the room, a blond woman was standing with her back to Lily, her hand on someone’s arm. The man she was with was hidden by the crowd. She looked oddly familiar and Lily frowned, trying to place her.

A young man with long dark hair, barely more than a boy, worked his way through the crowd, and handed the woman a drink. She turned her head to thank him, diamond earrings catching the light, and Lily recognised her.

Narcissa Black, now Malfoy.

The young man laughed and tossed his hair back, displaying the line of his face. Lily’s first thought was _Sirius_ , then, a breath later, _Regulus_.

The crowd shifted a little and she lost sight of them. When she could see them again, they were moving away. She could see the back of the man with Narcissa now. His long hair flowed down his spine, as pale as Narcissa’s, and he moved with a slow, dangerous grace.

Peter pushed back through the crowd. “Sorry – they’re about to begin – what’s wrong?”

“The Malfoys are here,” Lily said. The world was clear and focussed around her. “And Regulus Black.”

“Are you sure?” Peter asked sharply.

“Positive.”

He hissed through his teeth. “Well spotted.”

“What’s going on?” This wasn’t just a pleasant evening at the theatre any more.

He looked at her thoughtfully, then leant close enough to whisper. “I can’t tell you here. If we get through this in one piece, I’ll explain afterwards.”

“Peter.”

“Trust me.”

She bit her lip, tasting her lipstick. This was Peter. If she couldn’t trust him, who could she trust. “Okay.”

“Good. Let’s go in. Keep your wand close.”

Lily felt her eyes widen but forced the worry down. She was Gryffindor, as much as any of them.

The theatre was only dimly lit. There was no stage, only an open space beneath the banks of seats. There seemed to be no stage sets, merely mounds of boxes, covered with rough cloths.

“The backstage people are on thump,” Peter said confidently, as she gathered up her long skirt to squeeze down the row to their seats at the back of the Upper Circle.

“Strike.”

“Yeah, that. It’s why we got the tickets so cheap.”

“We?”

He smiled at her blandly. “Emmy and I.”

“Right.”

They settled into their seats. Lily began to look round, trying to spot the Malfoys.

“They’re in the stalls,” Peter breathed. “Can you see anyone else?”

She began to scan the theatre, slow and careful. “The Lestranges – below us in the corner.”

“Got them. The Parkinsons are a few rows down to our left. Back of the dress circle.”

“Frank and Alice Longbottom,” Lily said, stomach curling in dismay.

“Two sides in every war.”

“Good. Are they here officially?”

“No,” Peter said, smiling wryly.

The lights were beginning to dim. Lily sat back, frustrated, and let her wand sit comfortably in her hand. The smooth weight of the willow felt more reassuring than ever.

The audience were settling into silence. A pipe began to play, a thin stream of music. As the music faded away, a spotlight appeared on an actor in the middle of the stage, his head bowed.

“ _Now is the winter of our discontent  
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;  
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house  
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried…._

 _If only,_ Lily thought. This was famous. She ought to be enjoying it. Instead she stared into the dark auditorium, tense for trouble. Beside her Peter was equally on edge. She could feel the muscles banded in his arm where it brushed hers.

As Richard reached, “ _Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,_ ,” the door cracked open and a latecomer slipped in. He was a tall man, long-haired and bearded like half the Wizarding world, and there was something familiar about the way he walked, though she couldn’t place him. Lily wrapped her fingers around her wand until they throbbed.

Peter sighed and then relaxed a little.

Lily watched as Richard quarrelled with Lady Anne and the queens made their entrances. The world on the stage was one torn apart by too many years of war and she found herself wondering how long it would be before she saw such a world fall down around her.

Queen Margaret was crying out, “ _O Buckingham, take heed of yonder dog! Look when he fawns, he bites…_ ”

From the audience, dark figures were beginning to rise. Lily could see the stage lights shining on their blank masks.

Below her a female voice said, low and amused, “ _Avada Kedavra_.”

Green light flashed out and Margaret stumbled in mid-word before she crashed to the stage.

Lily shot to her feet, grabbing her wand, not sure what she could do. Beside her, Peter seized her arm, nails digging in, and hissed, “Wait.” Then he reached inside his coat, dragging something out. Lily felt feathers brush her cheek.

The actors had faltered, but now they continued with the play, as if all was planned. One of the attendants knelt beside the felled actress, shaking her shoulder. Lily could see how wide the actors’ eyes were and the quaver in their voices. Then audience were stirring and muttering, as if unsure if the light had been planned.

Another voice rang out from the audience, smooth and rolling. “Mark, mark, the end of an age. Cower. Cower, fools. The Reign of Walpurgis begins in this hour. Cower before you die.”

The attendant felt for the actress’ pulse, and then looked up, his eyes wild. “She’s dead! Rosemary’s dead!”

“As you all will die!” the women below cried out triumphantly.

“I beg to differ,” a male voice said firmly from the back of the theatre. “I’m afraid I cannot allow this sort of behaviour.”

Lily recognised that voice and her heart began to beat more rapidly, hoping.

The latecomer was on his feet, and now she knew him, even before he lifted his wand and cried, “ _Expecto Phoenixem!_ ” A beam of golden light shot from his wand, spreading into a broad beam across the auditorium.

Beside her, Peter echoed the cry, his voice merging with others from across the theatre. Golden light cobwebbed through the dark air, merging into one above the stage. Where the beams met a winged form took shape, bright as fire.

Lily glanced at Peter, not sure how to help, and drew in a breath. He too was masked, his round face hidden behind a sweep of fire-hued feathers. She could see his eyes through the mask, and his mouth below it, set with effort.

She could now see that the woman below was Bellatrix Lestrange, her dark hair flowing freely from behind her mask. She twisted in her place, thrusting her wand towards the latecomer, hissing, “ _Avada-_ ”

The phoenix dived, wings trailing light. It struck Bellatrix with a flash, and then swooped through her and up again. She screamed and staggered back, and her wand burst into flames. Bellatrix threw it down, howling with rage, and her husband dragged her back, shoving her behind him as he raised his own wand.

Finally, with the sight of tangible flames, the audience panicking. The theatre filled with screaming crowds, battling towards the doors. Peter scrambled up onto his seat, balancing against Lily’s shoulder. Light still shone from his wand.

The phoenix was diving again.

On the stage, the actor playing Richard had cupped his hands around his mouth and was bellowing, “Remain calm. Please, ladies and gentlemen, stay calm. There are emergency exits through the stage doors. This way, ladies and gentlemen.”

The phoenix dived towards the other end of the auditorium. Lestrange raised his wand, pointing at the actor.

Lily beat him to it, screaming, “ _Levicorpus!_ ”

As the green light arched down, the actor soared off the stage, costume flaring around him. The light splintered into the stage beneath him.

Lily squeaked the counterspell, dropping him to the ground below. He stumbled to his feet and ran.

Lestrange swung, looking for her, and she ducked down into Peter’s shadow, hoping whatever he was doing included a shield of some sort.

The phoenix swept down, leaving sparks dancing before her eyes, and both Lestrange brothers went crashing into the row below, surrounded by flames. Then the apparition was away again, swooping down.

Lily saw Narcissa Malfoy, her silk dress black with soot, drag Regulus down between the seats. The phoenix hovered over them, sending light flaring across the theatre. The audience had all gone now and she was the only one left not wearing a mask.

Rodolphus Lestrange pushed to his feet and bellowed, “Retreat!”

“Cissa!” Bella wailed in protest.

The members of the Order of the Phoenix were drawing towards the place where the phoenix waited, wands held high.

Lestrange swore, and he and his brother bundled Bellatrix between them, dragging her towards the door.

“They’re getting away!” Lily hissed.

“Let them run,” Peter said, his voice shaking. “They’re defanged.”

A hooded figure peered up from between the seats.

“One of them’s got a wand!” Alice Longbottom shouted.

Lily levelled her own wand as everyone broke into a run. Below her, she saw Narcissa rise to her knees. She flung her arms around her husband and cousin before seizing Regulus’ wand from his hand as he stared around wildly.

Then, with a crack that sounded like the sky breaking, they apparated.

“Fuck,” one of the masked men said in disgust. “Radcliffe’s dead and we didn’t even catch one of them.”

The latecomer cleared his throat and said mildly, “A great many Muggles live who would otherwise be dead. Now I believe we should move on, before the Aurors or the Muggle police arrive.”

A woman Lily couldn’t recognise snorted. “Maybe Crouch will have a heart attack at the sight.”

“Good riddance,” Alice Longbottom said. “Who’s got the portkey?”

“McKinnon,” Peter said. “When she stops blathering.”

“You can’t talk, Pettigrew. At least I didn’t drag my date into this.”

“Lily’s alright. I was meant to be with Emmy. Wasn’t my fault she’s still sleeping off the Confoundment from the other night.”

The latecomer coughed again. Lily darted a sideways look at him, and he smiled at her kindly. It _was_ him, then. His beard looked strange, flowing from beneath the mask.

McKinnon dragged out a long glove and dangled it in front of them. “Grab on, everyone. Including you, mysterious girl.”

Lily grabbed a pinch of fabric, feeling other hands settle around hers. Then they went whirling away.

When they landed the first thing she noticed was the cold. She gasped as her arms flared into goosebumps and blinked at the world around her. They were in a farmyard, deeply covered by snow. Above them the stars shone brightly between the mountains. She could see a set of familiar, impossible lights a mile away, across the lake.

“Hogsmeade farm,” Peter said softly. “Our Headquarters.”

“Watch yourself, Pettigrew,” McKinnon said sharply, tossing the glove away. “So, what are we going to do about you, mysterious girl?”

Lily set her chin. “My name is Lily Evans.”

“Marlene McKinnon. How much do you know?” Her dark eyes were narrowed behind the feathers.

The latecomer said, “I don’t think you need worry yourself, Miss McKinnon. I rather suspect Miss Evans will be joining us shortly.”

Lily turned to face him. His eyes were twinkling and she smiled back, reassured by the sight, before she asked, “Will I? First, I’d like to know just who you are?”

Professor Dumbledore lifted the mask away from his face and met her gaze. “Welcome,” he said, “to the Order of the Phoenix.”


	22. In The Deep Bosom Of The Ocean Buried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius broods while he waits for Remus to come home. Remus has had a terrible journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was vaguely intending to make this angsty but I've had a shitty few days and my muse insisted on fluff. Can't say I mind too much :) Title from _Richard III_.

Remus had been gone for thirty-two hours, sixteen minutes and about fifteen seconds, depending which clock Sirius looked at. In that time Sirius had cleaned the flat (though admittedly not until this morning when he realised Remus would be sarcastic about it); had five showers (three of them cold, because the hot water was dodgy for some reason); turned into Padfoot and back six times because he didn’t feel comfortable as either; and tried to read _Maurice_. He’d laughed at the bit where the teacher drew dirty pictures on the beach but he’d given up halfway through because he was bored of the way Clive wittered and didn’t see why Maurice couldn’t just shag him and move on. Moony’s bookmark had fallen out but he’d put it back in roughly the right place.

Thirty-two hours, seventeen minutes and sixteen seconds.

It had stopped snowing. The sky was still heavy with clouds and the dusk was cold and grey. Already the slushy snow was freezing to the roofs again and wet streets below were gleaming darkly with frost. The Muggle radio had been talking about black ice, which amused him in a dark way. It made him think of Narcissa, always so cold. She had what she wanted now, the husband and the secure ground to stand on. Perhaps she had always been sharper than the rest of them. Where had hot rage carried him? A cold flat and a cold demeanour towards the one he loved. Fire meant betrayal, cruelty and recklessness. Perhaps he should try to be ice.

He pressed his forehead against the cold window and let the cold sink into him. He closed his eyes as his forehead went numb.

Where was Remus? Surely he didn’t have to spend over thirty-two hours with his dad. What on earth did they talk about? He tried to imagine talking to his own father, but all he could imagine were cold silences. They had talked once, he was sure, before he went to Hogwarts. Surely his father had spoken to him at some point in his childhood. He couldn’t remember and it hardly mattered any more. His father was dead and buried outside Azkaban.

It was easier to imagine talking to Mr Potter. Even then, once they’d discussed motorbikes for a while, and he’d shown off the spells he wasn’t supposed to have put on Marianne, he’d be bored.

It wasn’t even as if Remus lived at home any more. He might insist he did, but he spent all his time here. If Sirius had to find a way to keep the Muggles striking until Remus stopped being stubborn, so be it.

Thirty-two hours, nineteen minutes and three seconds.

He wanted Remus _here._ He wasn’t generous, or kind, or sharing, or any such paltry Hufflepuff quality. He was a Black and Remus was _his_ and he wanted him here. Now.

In his mind he could here Peter snickering, and chanting, “Padfoot’s pouting. Pouting Paddy.”

Sirius drew his lower lip in and opened his eyes. The window was steamed up from his breath and he pulled away, annoyed. Even his breath was too hot. He squashed himself onto the windowsill a bit more, drawing his knees up, and pressed his cheek to a new bit of window.

Of course, if Remus did move in, he would have a new problem. Stopping himself from touching Remus did colourful things to his sanity at the best of times. Now Remus was trying to provoke him, it was almost impossible. Remus was his and it was perfectly natural to want to touch him. Just because he wanted something, it didn’t mean it was right for him to have it. His family wanted to exterminate all Muggles from the face of the planet. Tough luck all round.

He had a nasty feeling there might be a flaw in his logic somewhere. Remus would know where but the whole point was not to discuss this subject with Remus.

Logic was for Muggles. He was a wizard. He could live without it.

Thirty-two hours, twenty minutes and forty-one seconds.

Part of the problem was that he had forgotten how much skin Remus had. It had been so long since he’d been allowed to see anything except long sleeves and high-necked tops that he’d forgotten there was skin under all that cotton. How was he meant to cope when Remus suddenly decided that he didn’t need to wear anything between bed and the shower any more?

It would give him a heart attack, and then Remus would be sorry. Maybe he should tell him that. It might make him stop.

Sirius didn’t want him to stop.

Right. Not a good thought. Curtains. He could get up before Remus and open the curtains. That would stop him. Of course, that meant getting up far too early. Why couldn’t the daft bloke just stay in bed until half eight, like any one sane? Why couldn’t he stay in bed with him? He’d only had a few chances to wake up with Remus, odd days when either Peter or James was away and the other one had felt generous enough to sleep in the common room. He liked Remus in the morning. He was warm and clingy and used long words before he was awake enough to remember exactly what they meant. He had a tiny stash of precious memories that began with a sleep-muzzy Remus wrapping himself around Sirius before either of them were quite awake. He missed morning kisses, slow and full of laughter.

Bad thoughts. New subject.

Inevitably, though, he thought of Remus a few mornings ago, partway through his morning wank. He knew Remus had done it to tempt him but he had no idea if he knew just how tempting he was, flushed and shameless, arching off the bed. Sirius had just wanted to drop to his knees and throw the blanket aside before taking Remus into his mouth. Nobody else had the right to make Remus come, not even Remus himself. Nobody else would appreciate it: the little breathy noises Remus made when he was trying to be quiet and the way he shook when he finally came, all that sweat-damp skin quivering.

Damn, this windowsill was getting uncomfortable. Sirius dropped one leg down onto the floor and sighed in relief as some of the pressure on his cock eased a little. Damn. He was going to need another cold shower. For a moment he considered just shoving his hand into his jeans right now but he was just about sensible enough to remember the open curtains and the street below.

A key clicked in the latch.

 _Fuck_.

Sirius stared at the door, breath coming wildly. How was he meant to resist Moony right now?

The door creaked open and Remus shuffled in. It had got dark while he sat by the window, and Sirius could barely see him.

“Why’s there no light?” Remus asked, sounding annoyed.

“Something’s wrong with the elektrissummy,” said Sirius, shaping his words carefully.

“Fuck. _Lumos_.”

As the light flared, Sirius felt his jaw drop. Remus was coated in brown ash from head to foot. Even his hair was thick with it.

“What happened to you?” Sirius demanded, swinging off the windowsill.

Remus scowled at him. “They said the Floo was fixed. They _said_ they’d found an alternative power source.”

Sirius stopped. Something smelt terrible, like shit and sewers and burnt out cauldrons. “Yeah? What?”

“Manure,” Remus said tightly.

Sirius stepped back slightly. “That would explain the smell, then.”

“Yes,” Remus said. “That would explain the smell.” He took a stop forward.

“Stop!” Sirius yelped. He might not be as house proud as James, but he’d _cleaned_. He’d be damned if he let Remus trail ash all over a tidy flat.

Remus turned to glare at him. “What?”

“I vacuumed,” Sirius said, and then winced at how stupid it sounded.

“Congratulations. Can I get to the bathroom now?”

“Has it gone through your clothes?” Sirius asked. “Or is it just on the outside?”

“Some of it has slipped down the back of my neck. It itches.” He took another step.

“Strip!” Sirius barked.

Remus blinked. “Um.”

“Strip! Clothes off! No, wait!” He lifted his wand. “ _Accio_ black sack.”

A roll of rubbish bags shot out of the kitchen.

“I am not throwing my clothes away.”

“You have to put them somewhere until we get them to the laundry,” Sirius said reasonably. “Now strip.” He managed to get the sack open and walked over to stand beside Remus, holding it open.

Remus stared at him.

“What?” Sirius asked.

“You can’t just order me to take my clothes off.”

“Why not?” Sirius demanded. “You’ve been walking round this place like it was a nudist beach all week.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

Remus looked away. “Because.”

Sirius sighed and put the sack down, wrinkling his nose. Moony really did stink. “I’m going to run a bath. You are going to take all your clothes off and put them in this sack. Then you are going to take a bath. Right.”

“I-”

“Good.” He backed away, waving his wand at the curtains until they hissed shut, and summoning candles out of the kitchen. He stuck two onto the top of the loo and turned the water on, squirting in a generous amount of bubblebath from the sailor-shaped bottle. The water was cold, but he could deal with that. He stepped out of the bathroom and stared at Remus.

He hadn’t moved, and he was still dressed.

“Clothes,” Sirius said. “Off.”

“Padfoot. Can’t you just put newspaper down?”

“I want you to leave the smell over there, too. How did you get covered in the stuff?”

Remus winced. “It seems manure blocks aren’t actually a very reliable fuel source for this sort of thing. It broke down. Noisily. I’ve spent the last three hours stuck inside a blast furnace in Surrey. I’ve been holding cooling charms over three people, one of whom was six years old and claustrophobic, and I’ve just apparated home. I want a bath.”

 _Home_. Sirius felt guilt twist around the glow that produced. He’d been brooding while Remus had a shitty day. That wasn’t right.

“I just want you to leave your clothes by the door,” he said gently. “Then come here. Please.”

Moony’s shoulders came up defensively.

“Right,” Sirius said. “I want you undressed by the time I’ve turned the water off. Okay.”

The bath was perhaps a little overfull, but he took time to wave his wand at the water to heat it.

Remus was still dressed.

Sirius sighed and pointed his wand at him. “ _Divesto totalem!_ ”

“Fuck!” Remus squeaked as his clothes whirled off. “Shit. _Finite incantatem._ ”

“Too late,” Sirius said smugly. Remus’ clothes were spilling out of the sack, and Remus himself was naked and shivering, scattering ash with every movement. He had crossed his hands over his cock and was staring at Sirius as if he’d been betrayed.

“Cold,” he said.

“Then get in the bath, you prat.” Sirius could see his goosebumps from here.

Remus took a step forward.

Sirius bit his lip, worried. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like being naked,” Remus said primly.

Sirius snorted. “You’ve been flaunting yourself at me all week.”

“That’s different,” mumbled Remus.

“Why?”

Remus stopped and then said, very softly, “I don’t feel ugly when you’re looking at me.”

Sirius felt his fists clench. “You’re not ugly. You’re gorgeous. And I am looking at you.”

Remus shook his head. “You’re looking at me like I’m covered in shit. I meant _looking_.”

“Oh,” Sirius said softly, and then winced as his erection revived suddenly. He walked forward and peeled one of Remus’ hands away, wrapping his fingers around it. “Moony, mate, you _are_ covered in shit. You’re still gorgeous. Now, come with me.”

Remus gave him a sceptical look but let Sirius draw him across the room, shivering. He dipped a tentative toe into the bathwater and then smiled. “Warm.”

“It ought to be,” Sirius said, and blinked in surprise as Remus slithered under the bubbles at speed. He submerged himself completely, then came up blinking.

“Why’s the flat so cold?”

“Heating’s stopped.”

“What’s wrong with warming charms?”

Sirius shrugged. “I was in an icy sort of mood. Black ice.”

Remus gave him a thoughtful look. It looked completely incongruous on a face wreathed in bubbles. Sirius grinned at him and perched on the loo. “How was the rest of the weekend?”

“Okay. Dad’s coping without me.” He sounding disgruntled.

Sirius grinned. “I’ll just have to keep you, then. Make the place look pretty.”

“Ha, ha.” Remus sank back, batting bubbles away from his face. “Sorry to be whiny.”

“Shitty journeys are a good excuse. Better yet?”

“Mmm.”

“Good,” Sirius said and eyed him. He was almost hidden by bubbles but Sirius could see the lines of his ribs and the small bumps at the end of his collarbones. There was something about the curve of his neck that belonged right here, in Sirius’ bathroom where no one else would ever see it.

“Now you’re _looking_ at me.”

“Am I?”

“Mmm.”

“Don’t go to sleep,” Sirius said. “The gravediggers are on strike so I’m buggered if you drown.”

“How do you know?”

“Been listening to Muggle radio.”

“Were you bored?”

“I am never bored,” Sirius said, mock-affronted. “I was merely broadening my cultural knowledge. You look a bit happier.”

Remus slithered round in the bath, crossing his arms on the edge. “Are you looking after me again?”

“I don’t-”

“Yes, you do.” He smiled. “I like it.”

Sirius opened his mouth, and then closed it. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. At last he said, helplessly, “Moony.”

Remus smiled, his eyes soft and dark in the candlelight.

Sirius stood up, thinking of tea and dinner and heating charms. Then he gave in to impulse and ducked down beside the bath. He kissed Remus before he’d realised himself what he wanted.

Remus gasped and parted his lips, taking the kiss. Sirius felt wet arms wrap around his neck and smiled into the kiss, slowing it. Heat settled through him as Remus sighed gently. He opened his eyes to see that Remus had closed his, his wet eyelashes drifting against his cheeks. He looked as if he was dreaming and Sirius gathered him closer, brushing his tongue across Remus’ lips.

When he pulled away Remus blinked at him. Sirius released him reluctantly and he slid back into the bath a few inches before he caught himself, pink fingers wrapping around the rim. Sirius stared at him, feeling dazed himself, and then stood up.

“I-” he started. “Um, make you tea. Then warming charms. And, er, going to make soup. For dinner, that is.”

Remus smiled. “Domesticated.”

Sirius snorted. “I’m still less of a girl than Prongs.”

“Give it time.”

As he turned out of the bathroom Remus said, “Sirius?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you too.”

Sirius headed for the kitchen, not even trying to hold in his smile.


	23. To Fright The Souls Of Fearful Adversaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius and Remus see somewhere who shouldn't be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jan 22 1979 was one of the key dates of the Winter of Discontent. Virtually all public sector workers went on strike on this day and there were marches through several major cities - hence Sirius' problem with the crowd. The BBC have a nice description of [what happened](http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/january/22/newsid_2506000/2506715.stm). Title from _Richard III_.

“Everything smells of blood,” Remus said grumpily.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “It’s a meat market. What do you expect?”

“I still don’t understand why we’re in a meat market at whatever hour of the morning this is.”

“Sausages,” Sirius said, grinning at him. “Fat, juicy sausages. Glistening sausages.”

Remus winced. “I just had a moment of Peterness.”

“There’s nothing rude about them. Dirty-minded git.”

“I’m not the one with the sausage-fixation,” Remus said slyly.

Sirius ignored him, taking a deep breath. The air was rich and salty, but he didn’t mind it. There was something real and earthy about it, something honest and brutal and strong. Meat was hanging in slabs in every shop front and the market was bustling with small trucks and trolleys. Men were calling to each other in a thick accent he’d never been allowed to understand. He would have been happy to sit in one of the pubs that opened for this hour, and share breakfast with some of them, listening to stories from an alien world.

“What’s wrong with the supermarket?” Remus grumbled.

Sirius sent him a hurt look. Why didn’t he understand? “It’s atmosphere, mate. It’s an experience. Tradition going back centuries-”

“I thought you didn’t like traditions that went back centuries.”

“Git. Depends on the tradition. Did you know this was where the peasants met in the Peasant’s Revolt?”

“Muggle history?” Remus said blankly. “You?”

Sirius waved his hand airily. “There’s a plaque up somewhere. Now wake up, stop being a grumpy bugger, and let’s buy sausages.”

Remus muttered something, but Sirius ignored him and trotted off across the market. It was still dark, the sky streaked with lighter blues above them, and the lights along the inside of the arches glowed warmly. The tops of the Victorian arches were glittering with frost, and the traders’ breath formed clouds in the air before them. A an old man in a flat cap, with red cheeks and grease in his wrinkles, was leaning against a wall, cupping a cigarette. He gazed out across the market, seeing but unseeing. How long had he been coming here? Was this his entire life laid out before them?

“You know,” Remus said thoughtfully. “I’m beginning to see what you mean. It’s interesting. The longer people have known each other, the less they need to say.”

He was right. There were groups of men here who talked with a shrug and a one syllable taunt. It was like the way he talked to James and Remus and Peter. Would they settle into such a silence as they grew old?

The sausage merchant was a five minute walk away. Sirius, who knew the freezer was empty, intended to buy in bulk. He loved sausages, despite Peter’s unending string of jokes about runaway dogs.

Remus shook his head, and waited by the window, watching the world go by. He was muffled up in his old coat and his Gryffinor scarf, the tips of his ears peeking out coldly. Sirius resisted the temptation to cup his own hands over them to warm them up, and bought his sausages.

As he picked the bag up, Remus said sharply, “Sirius!”

It was his Auror voice, and Sirius tensed and whirled.

“Look!” Remus said, pointing with his hand against his side. “Tell me if you see what I do. Fourth arch, black coat.”

Sirius followed his gesture, narrowing his eyes at the man who’d paused there, blowing on his hands for warmth. He was tall, gaunt, dark-haired, rough-shaven. Then he dropped his hands, and Sirius recognised him.

Alan Radcliffe.

He hurled himself out of the shop, feet pounding against the sticky cobbles. Radcliffe, who should have been dead, looked up at the sound and saw the wand in Sirius’ hand. He turned and ran.

Sirius went after him, shoving his way between trolleys and clumps of men. He heard angry shouts behind him, and the soft thump of Remus’ feet. Ahead of him, Radcliffe was running flat out, coat streaming before him.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_ ,” Remus gasped behind him.

Sirius saw the air ripple faintly as the spell slid past him. Remus had always been good at making his spells unobtrusive.

Radcliffe glanced back and dodged, swearing. Then he reached into his pocket and hurled something towards them. Sirius saw it glitter dangerously, but then Remus hit his back, shoving him down. He hit the cobbles with dizzying force, Remus warm and heavy on his back, and drew a breath.

Then the street blew up.

Sirius dropped his head down, hissing, “ _Protego!_ ”

As soon as the flames died down he rolled, dragging Remus to his feet. “Are you alright?”

Remus nodded, coughing. “Go!”

He could just see Radcliffe in the distance and threw himself into the run, wishing he was able to transform. Padfoot could control the wolf – he would easily bring down a man.

Radcliffe burst out of the market, head ducked. Sirius hammered after him. There was no one ahead of him now. Everyone had rushed back towards Remus and the fire.

He hurled himself out of the market…

…and found himself surrounded.

There were Muggles everywhere, marching in a slow and endless crowd. The murmur of their voices drowned everything, and he couldn’t see past the banner and signs they carried. Sirius swore and tried to shove through in the direction Radcliffe had been running.

He was rebuffed, and he swore again.

They’d lost him.

For a moment, he stopped and watched the march, in case Radcliffe tried to double back. His breath was harsh and heavy in his lungs. Then he turned and stalked back into Smithfield Market.

The fire was out and a crowd was gathered around Remus. He was using his Auror voice again. Sirius began to push through the crowd as he heard him say, “…wanted for questioning in relation to a number of murders.” Then he saw Sirius and looked up, raising an eyebrow.

“Bastard got away.”

There was a mutter from the crowd.

“Shit,” Remus said. “Right, if he comes back, don’t approach him. Call this number.”

Sirius phased it out again, scowling. He’d watched enough police shows to work out what Remus was doing, sneaky bastard. Well, let him be the clever one. That just meant Sirius had to be the bad-tempered, sexy one. That suited him. It let him think.

Alan Radcliffe was dead. He’d seen the body, cold and stiff. Nobody survived a slit throat. That meant that either the man had a twin, which was worthy of the most lurid Muggle telly, or somebody was using polyjuice. But who? Was somebody pretending to be a dead man or was Radcliffe alive? Alan Radcliffe, who might have been in the Order of the Phoenix, and who might have been a traitor. Could he have faked his own death? Whose face was the body wearing? Did people transformed by polyjuice change back after death?

“If you’ll excuse us,” Remus said politely. “DS Black and I need to report. We’ll be sending someone to talk to you within the next half hour. Is it possible for you all to stay around that long?”

One of the men snorted and said, “No longer. Got businesses to run.”

“Good,” Remus said. “Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen. Black?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Cheers.”

Remus dragged him round the corner until they were out of sight, and hissed, “Ministry.”

They apparated quickly, and split up in the foyer. Remus dashed off in search of an obliviator to send to Smithfield and Sirius took the stairs up to the office two at a time. Ted wasn’t it yet, but there was a message fire free. Sirius pushed to it, and grabbed for Floo powder, snarling, “Number Ten, Church Road, St Paul’s Cray.”

A ear-splitting shriek greeted him. “Sirius! Mummy, Sirius is in the fire!”

Andromeda, still in her dressing gown, black hair loose down her back, rose from the kitchen table, her face narrowing. “What’s wrong?”

“Is Ted still there?”

“One moment. Nymphadora, get daddy.”

Nym went scuttling out, and Andromeda came to crouch by the fire. “Are you alright? Your face is bleeding.”

“Is it?” Sirius said. He hadn’t noticed. “Might just be cow blood.”

Andromeda looked worried. “Sirius.”

Ted stumbled into the kitchen, yawning. “What’s up?”

“Remus and I just saw Alan Radcliffe.”

Ted woke up, his eyes growing sharp. “Alan’s dead.”

“Then somebody else with his face just tried to kill us.”


	24. Nor Made To Court An Amorous Looking-Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back to the Alan Radcliffe case. Remus and Sirius misbehave in a ministry loo. *throws hands in the air* They weren't supposed to do that today.

The four of them met in the depths of the Ministry. Sirius stopped to wait but Moody walked off as soon as they arrived, barking at them to follow.

“Aren’t we waiting for the others?” Remus asked.

“We’re the only ones working on this,” Ted said shortly. “There’s a leak somewhere. You two haven’t been here long enough to be responsible.”

“And if Tonks or I are the traitor, we’re all fucked,” Moody said with relish.

“I do like a bit of fresh optimism in the morning,” Sirius muttered, and Remus elbowed him. He was still smirking, the git. There had been nothing wrong with barricading himself in the shower. The only tactical flaw had been not been checking whether Remus had been in there first.

That, of course, led him to the image of Remus in the shower, naked and soapy, laughing so hard he had to support himself against the yellowed tiles.

Work. He was working and it was important. He had to concentrate.

Remus was smirking even more.

Ted unlocked the door in front of them, and ushered them in, muttering a spell over them. Sirius felt something cold ripple over him and shivered.

“Stops you from leaving traces on anything you touch,” Ted said. “Right, now we’re down here and away from anyone who might be listening, I’d like to go through the case with you.”

Sirius looked around the room, hunching his shoulders. It was white from floor to ceiling. One wall was lined with metal cabinets and the whole ceiling glowed white with a light spell. On the block in the centre of the room, a floating blanket hid the shape below. The chilling spells were fierce.

“Let’s get on with it,” Remus said, shuffling closer to Sirius. The light from above bleached all the colour from his face, leaving him pale and ghostlike.

“This goes back to last June. Jack Yarwood and Alan Radcliffe were the leaders of the team who tackled the Hexcombe coven. You won’t have heard about it – hushed up. Nastiest bunch of dark wizards I’ve seen yet. They’d disguised themselves as Muggles and were taking kids. They went for city kids – the ones with no friends, the rebels, the angry children. Then they took what they wanted from them, blood and bone, to summon dark things. Terrible things. Eventually a teacher noticed that too many kids were disappearing for it to be just a bunch of teenage runaways. Luckily for us, his sister was a Muggleborn witch and she knew enough to alert the ministry.”

He took a breath, glancing at Moody, who was staring down at the covered body, lips tight.

“I put together a team of six to uncover them. Jack Yarwood, Alan Radcliffe, Oliver Sugden, Lucia Peverell, Daffyd Powell and Hester Entwhistle. Oliver was killed in the showdown with the coven. Lucia is still in St Mungos – she’ll never get her mind back. Daffyd was killed in August. Hester and her family was tortured and murdered in November. That’s when Radcliffe and the Yarwoods went into hiding. Nobody should have been able to find them.”

“But someone did,” Moody growled. “Someone _knew_.”

“Radcliffe?” Remus asked, his voice very quiet. “But he’s dead, too.”

“Maybe he sold them out, hoping to buy his own safety,” Ted said. “Maybe he was killed by someone else. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe there’s someone else out there who knows.”

“So now what?” Sirius asked. His palms had gone wet and clammy. Things weren’t supposed to be this complicated.

“We go over everything again,” Moody said. “The four of us. Every single detail.”

“First, we need to go through Radcliffe’s things. See if there’s anything which might indicate that this man is not Alan Radcliffe.”

“Body first,” Moody said, and removed the cloth.

Somebody had closed Radcliffe’s eyes. Sirius wasn’t sure if he looked more or less terrible now. There was no more blood but already his cheeks had begun to fall in, his skin tightening around his skull.

“Alan had a Quidditch scar on the back of his left shoulder,” Ted said. “Bludger sent him into the commentary stand in his fifth year.”

“Turn him,” Moody snapped.

Sirius hesitated. He didn’t want to touch that cold, dead skin.

Remus stepped forward, face set. He and Moody lifted the body, turning it gently before they set it down again. A line ran across the shoulder blade, puckered against the pale skin.

“That’s it,” Ted said, and frowned. “What’s that on his lower back?”

Moody squinted, and Sirius leant forward. There was a circular red patch at the base of the corpse’s spine, where all the skin had been scraped away.

“Doctor’s report,” Moody said.

Ted flicked through it. “Bit vague. He reckons it was done shortly before death but can’t tell much more.”

“Polyjuice,” Sirius said flatly.

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Moody said. “Whoever killed him could him wanted proof to take home.”

“But polyjuice is most likely, yes?” Remus said.

“Yes,” Moody said, and there was a note of ferocity. “Somebody’s playing games with us.”

They spent the rest of the morning down there. Once Moody and Ted had finished with the body, they moved on to his clothes and belongings, checking for anything which might not have belonged to Alan Radcliffe.

There was a wand (“Hawthorn, unicorn hair. Registered it myself. It’s his.”), a handful of sherbet lemons (“Bit of sweet tooth, Alan.”), a bus ticket from Newport to Cardiff, dated eight days ago (“Interesting. You two can get your arses over to Cardiff this afternoon.”), some coins, mostly Muggle, a tin of tobacco and a pack of rolling papers.

“Did he smoke?” Remus asked.

“Twenty a day,” Ted said. “Didn’t usually roll his own, though.”

Sirius walked over and lifted the blankets a bit. “His fingers are yellow.”

“Safe to say if that’s not him, it’s a permanent transfiguration, then,” Remus said, frowning slightly. “That’s an odd design on the tin.”

Sirius came back over to look at it. At the first glance he thought it was a pierrot smoking but when he looked again he saw it was a pipe rather than a fag. Remus was right. There was something odd about it, and he couldn’t work out what.

“Right,” Moody said. “You two get moving. Report on my desk by the end of the day. Find out what the fuck he was doing in Wales.”

Almost as soon as they left, Remus swerved away. “I need to wash my hands.”

Sirius sighed in relief. He’d thought he was the only one who felt marked, despite the spell. “Me, too.”

There was coal tar soap in the loos, orange and foul-smelling. Sirius lathered his hands with it, rinsed them and washed them again, trying to get rid of the hidden stain. That done, he dried them on green paper towels, and turned to Remus.

He was still washing, and he still looked pale.

“You alright?” Sirius asked.

He nodded sharply and bent over the sink, leaning on his hands. “I haven’t seen someone laid out like that since – since my Mum died.”

“Fuck,” Sirius said and dragged Remus into his arms, cradling him tight. “You should have said.”

Remus shoved his face into the crook of Sirius’ neck and twisted his hands under Sirius’ robes, clinging to skin with soapy hands. “I’m okay. It’s just – you forget. You think you’ve healed and then something reminds you. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” Sirius pressed his lips against Remus’ hair, rocking him. “It’s okay.”

“I know. I know. It just shook me. Poor bastard.”

His hands were relaxing, smoothing from claws pinching, to flat fingers spread across Sirius’ hips as they swayed together.

“Think it is Radcliffe, then?”

“Looks like it. So who’s pretending to be him?”

Sirius shrugged. “No idea.”

Remus sighed, and then said apologetically, “Sirius?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to be manipulative right now so I’m going to warn you. You really should stop moving like that.”

“Eh?” Sirius said, still rocking.

Remus twisted his hips slightly and Sirius felt the line of his erection press against his own. The heat rushed through him and he threw his head back. “Oh.”

“If you want us to stop, you’re going to have to stop yourself. Because I don’t want to. I don’t think I can. Oh, fuck, Sirius, you’re alive.”

That stopped Sirius. “Moony?”

“Don’t die. I don’t ever want it to be you down there.”

Sirius shoved him back against the wall, pressing against him. “It won’t be. I promise. You’ll never have to see that. I’ll outlive you, you scrawny little git.”

Remus snorted a half-laugh. “I’d like to see you try.”

“You will. I swear it to you.”

Remus blinked across at him and then glared, his brown eyes fierce. “Tell me a secret.”

“What?”

“Tell me a secret. Tell me something I can ask you to be sure it’s you and not polyjuice.”

“Fuck,” Sirius said. He’d never worried about it. Thoughts swirled through his mind - _I broke my mother’s wand when I was three; I _was_ the one who gave James green spots in first year; I love you._ At last he said, “The shape of your right ankle.”

Remus looked confused. “What?”

“The shape of your right ankle.”

“Are you going to explain that one?”

“No,” Sirius said, and grinned. “It’s a secret.”

Remus’ smile twitched and he leant forward to whisper. “The eighteenth of November, nineteen-seventy-five.”

Sirius blinked and did some frantic maths. “Fifth year. Just after we did the animagus transformation, right?”

“The morning after the first moon we went out together,” Remus said softly, beginning to rock again. “I woke up, and for the first time, I barely hurt. You were fast asleep in the chair beside me, this big, stupid grin on your face, and you were snoring. That was when I realised I was in love with you.”

Sirius felt like all the breath had been knocked out of him. “Moony, I- Fuck- I… _Remus._ ” How did he do it? How did Remus steal all his eloquence without even trying?

Remus smiled and reached under his robes. He began to undo the buttons on Sirius’ shirt, lips pursed with concentration. Sirius felt his eyes widen in panic.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m touching you,” Remus said patiently, and slid his hands up Sirius’ bare chest.

“You haven’t touched me all morning.” Damn. He hadn’t meant it to sound like that.

Remus’ expression sobered again. “I didn’t want to. I had death on my hands.”

“Fair enough,” Sirius managed. Every time Remus rocked against him, the world went a little more blurry around the edges. “Are you trying to seduce me again?”

“No,” Remus said, smiling. “I am seducing you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Are not.”

“Am too.”

“Not.”

Remus slid his hand down, stroking Sirius through his trousers. “Am.”

Sirius moaned, thrusting forward into that warm touch. “Door. Anyone could come in.”

“Good point,” Remus said, still stroking, and fumbled his wand out. “ _Supplemora_.”

The lock clicked shut. That had not been what he meant.

Remus slid his hand up, fingering the buttons on Sirius’ fly. “Do you want me to stop?”

Stop? _Yes. No. Fuck._

Remus leant forward and said again, his breath brushing Sirius’ lips, “Do you want me to stop?”

“Nuh- No?” Sirius asked, without the words passing through his brain first.

Remus moaned, a low sound of pure relief, and kissed him. His hands shook and fumbled on the buttons, and then he was shoving Sirius’ trousers down. He wrapped his hand around Sirius’ cock with a breathy sigh, and began to pump it slowly, his thumb swirling around the head, teasingly slow.

Sirius couldn’t keep the noises from spilling out of him; couldn’t stop his hips from rolling or his breath from breaking into Remus’ mouth. Fuck it. He gave in. He slid his hands inside Remus’ robes, dragging Remus’ trousers down, snapping the button off. His hands ran across stripes of warm skin and rough scars and then he found Remus. He closed his fingers around the hot, soft weight of him, remembering, and Remus wailed, his hips jerking.

“Ssh,” Sirius murmured, rubbing circles with his other hand. “Mine.”

“Mine,” Remus said fiercely, and pushed forward until their cocks pressed together.

Sirius threw his head back, gasping for cooler air, and Remus wound their fingers together, moving their hands.

“Sirius,” he gasped. “Been too long. Sirius. Sirius. Sirius.”

“Remus,” Sirius breathed. “We shouldn’t. Oh, Remus. I’m a bad person. We shouldn’t. Oh, Remus. Please. Remus.”

“You’re wonderful,” Remus murmured, pressing kisses to his neck. “Beautiful. Wonderful. Mine, all mine. Mine.”

“Yours,” Sirius murmured, heat surging through him as he came.

Remus cried out and then sank his teeth into Sirius’ neck, spurting over both their hands.

Sirius sighed and sank against him, pressing his sweaty hands against the cold wall. Remus’ arms wrapped around his waist, tightly. After a few moments, he said, “Padfoot?”

“Mmm?”

“Cold tiles.”

Sirius stepped back reluctantly, pulling Remus with him.

Remus sighed and nuzzled his neck. “Did we just…?”

“I think we did.”

“In a ministry loo?”

“Yeah.”

“We did check no one else was here, didn’t we?”

Sirius whipped his head around in horror but all the stalls were empty. “We’re safe.”

“I missed you. I really missed you.”

Sirius looked down at Remus, wrapped around him, his eyes heavy and full of something soft and terrifying. Shit. This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. He pushed away, dragging his trousers up far enough that he could march into the nearest cubicle and clean himself.

“Padfoot?”

Sirius stalked out again and went to wash his hands. Shit, shit, shit. Whatever he did now, he was a total bastard.

Remus was still leaning against the wall. He always had been warm and languid after sex. Sirius was the one who had the burst of energy.

“Being a sore loser?”

“I haven’t lost,” Sirius said, glaring at his reflection. Loathsome creature.

“I seduced you,” Remus said smugly.

“Once.”

“Once?” Remus repeated, his voice less certain.

Sirius made himself look at him, as if it would make this better. “It won’t happen again.”

He saw the hurt flood over Remus’ face. Then the expression faded, and Remus smiled, cool and unreadable. “So. The challenge is still on?”

“Yes,” Sirius ground out.

“You’re going to lose, Padfoot.”

“We’ll see.”

Remus smiled again, polite and vicious. “So, Cardiff?”

“Better get moving,” Sirius said, rinsing the soap off his hands. “Do your trousers up, Moony.”

“If I must.” Remus stepped away from the wall. Sirius turned away from him, waiting for him to clean up as he tried to steady his own breath. Fuck.

“ _Alohamora_ ,” Remus murmured. He looked as if no sinful thought had ever crossed his mind. Right up to the moment he paused before the door and said, viciously, “This isn’t over, Sirius.”

That was exactly what Sirius was afraid of.


	25. By Drunken Prophecies, Libels, And Dreams

It was three in the morning and his room was freezing.

Remus knew he should just reach out for his wand and cast yet another warming charm. That would mean sticking his arm out from under the blankets, though, into the cold, cold air.

Why was he so shite at warming charms?

Probably, he had to admit, because Sirius was good at them. Sirius’ warming charms had always covered the whole dorm and lasted the entire night, and Remus had enough other things to learn to worry about improving on one wobbly household charm.

Cold.

He should had asked Sirius to cast one for him, but Sirius hadn’t spoken to him since they got back from Cardiff. He’d spent most of the evening drinking, glowering at the newspaper as if he expected it to attack.

Remus had managed to bite back all his sarcastic comments and left him to brood. He’d spent the evening curled over his book, trying to concentrate. It was rather difficult to concentrate on anything when the flat was occupied by a sulking Sirius. He took up far more space than should have been physically possible.

Sirius wouldn’t be cold. He would probably be passed out in a drunken stupor, but he would be warm.

Actually…

It wouldn’t be very fair. Considering how cold he was, it wouldn’t be very nice. He had a mission, though, and niceties must be discarded.

Remus slid a besocked foot out from under the blankets, wincing. He gathered the rest of the blankets around him, and pressed the foot onto the floor.

There was a hole in his sock and he bit back a whimper of pain as the cold rushed up through him. Bloody strikes. Why couldn’t central heating just run off magic?

He wobbled through the dark living room and cracked Sirius’ door open. A wave of heat rolled out, and Remus whimpered in relief and dashed in.

Sirius was curled up on the bed, blankets pushed down to his waist. He had turned towards the wall, and his knees were drawn up. He was snuffling slightly in his sleep. The light from the streetlight came through the curtains to cast orange light across the tangle of his hair and his cheekbone.

Remus dropped his blankets with a sigh of relief. He was already beginning to flush with heat below his pajamas. He stripped them off with a grin. It couldn’t hurt.

He kept his socks on, though, in case he had to run for it.

It wasn’t until he reached out to pull the blankets back that he realised Sirius wasn’t snoring.

He was crying.

“Padfoot?” Remus said, frightened. Sirius didn’t cry. He raged and sulked and ranted. He never cried. Or not where anyone would see him, at least.

Sirius rolled over onto his back, staring up in panic, a fist jammed into his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Remus said.

Sirius lowered his fist. “I-” Then he burst into tears, sobbing at full volume.

Remus scrambled in beside him, dragging him up against his chest. “Sirius. It’s alright, love. Don’t cry.”

Sirius continued to howl against his shoulder, his body shaking with the force of each noisy sob and his fists clenched in the sheets. Remus dragged the blankets up around them, wrapping him close and murmured to him, waiting out the storm.

At last he quietened, hiccuping against Remus’ neck. Remus rubbed his back, tracing his way up the smooth line of his back.

“Sorry,” Sirius whispered.

“Nothing to be sorry for. What’s wrong?”

“I dreamt,” Sirius said and shuddered. “I dreamt that the dead came out of the ground and they were cold. Everywhere they went the world froze. They were all around me, and Moody told me the only way to stop them was to set myself on fire, but I couldn’t because you were right in front of me, and you were one of the dead, and you told me it was all my fault, and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill you again.”

“Breathe,” Remus murmured. “I’m not dead.”

“And before that I dreamt that James had killed you and was cutting his own hands off afterwards.”

“I don’t think I’ve offended him that much lately.”

“And before that there was Lily, and, and, Peter melted and you tore all your skin off until there were only bones and I-”

Remus stopped his mouth with a kiss. Sirius kept talking under his lips but then stopped, his lips still. Remus slid his tongue across his lips, still stroking his spine, and Sirius sighed and relaxed, kissing him back. He was still shaking, and Remus kept the kiss gentle, a soft brush of lips on lips. When he finally drew back Sirius looked better, his grey eyes less lost.

“I thought you’d learnt the lesson about firewhiskey before bed,” Remus said gently.

Sirius snorted and snuggled down against his pillows. “What I said earlier, about wanting to outlive you? I didn’t mean it.”

“No?”

“I’m a selfish bastard,” Sirius said as Remus cuddled beside him. “I am. I want to be the first to go, before all of you. Even if there wasn’t a fucking war, one of us has to be the last. I don’t want it to be me.”

“I understand,” Remus said gently. “Reckon Peter will outlive us all. Least reckless.”

“Poor git.”

“Yeah.”

Sirius closed his eyes. There were still tears on his eyelashes. Then he opened them again and said, “You’re in my bed.”

“Well spotted. Mine’s cold.”

“Always were crap at warming charms.”

“Why bother when I can just get you to cast them?”

“Heh.” He pulled the blankets up tightly around his ears, peering at Remus from under their shadow. Then he asked, voice small, “Have you come to seduce me again?”

“No,” Remus said gently. “Not when you’re upset.”

“Some blokes would take advantage.”

“Some blokes would,” Remus agreed, “if all they were after was a quick shag.”

“What are you after?”

“You,” said Remus, looking down at him. “For as many years as we’ve got left.”

Sirius took a breath, then licked his lips, then took another breath. “Moony.”

“I love you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Yes, I should,” Remus said, feeling a smile curl across his face. “Should or should not doesn’t matter, though. I do. Nothing will change that. I have no choice, and I’m glad of that.”

“Damn,” Sirius said, sinking under the blankets. “You’re not supposed to make this hard.”

Remus went after him, feeling through the darkness until his hand curved around Sirius’ chin. “I’m trying to make it easy.”

“Don’t,” Sirius said thickly. “I’m trying to do the right thing. Just once in my life.”

Remus sighed into the warm darkness. “You are the most infuriating man in the world.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“Worse than James?”

“Yup.”

“Worse than Snape?”

“Yup.”

“Worse than Lucius Malfoy?”

“Yup, just about.”

“Hah.”

“Are you going to come out of there before you suffocate?”

“Was going to sleep now.”

Remus sighed. He was warm now. Even his feet had stopped tingling. He drew the blankets back, sitting up.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to my own bed.”

“Isn’t it cold?”

Remus winced. “Very.”

Sirius sat up beside him. His hair was wild and his eyes were red-rimmed. He bit his lip and said, winding his fingers into the blankets, “I shouldn’t ask you to stay.”

Remus caught his breath. “Do you want me to?”

Sirius nodded, a quick jerk of his head.

Remus slipped back down beside him. “I won’t do anything.”

Sirius curled around him. “Okay. If I start dreaming again…”

Remus found his hand and squeezed it. “I’ll wake you up.”

“Don’t think I will.”

“Good. Go to sleep, Sirius.”

But Sirius was already sleeping, a smile on his face.


	26. And Now, Instead Of Mounting Barbed Steeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fights and mixed advice.

James Potter lay on his living room floor and gazed balefully at his ceiling. “I hate this house.”

“Bit late now, isn’t it?” Peter asked sleepily. “What’s wrong with it?”

“It doesn’t have Lily in it.”

“I don’t think that’s the house’s fault.”

“Fuck off, Wormtail.”

“Charming.”

James sighed heavily. Lily hated him. She’d already cancelled two dates at the last minute this week. Nothing he did was right. All he wanted to do was live happily ever after with her. How had trying to manage that pissed her off so much? Had he really made her hate him so much she’d found someone else?

The sheer panic of the thought made him feel sick. Why was he so fucking useless?

He didn’t realise he’d said it out loud until Peter replied drearily, “You’re not useless, Prongs.”

“You’re no good. Where are those other two wankers?”

“Still in the kitchen.”

“What are they _doing_ in there?”

Peter yawned. “They’re either fighting or shagging. Or both.”

“Not in my kitchen!” James yelped, shooting to his feet.

At that moment, Sirius’ voice rang out, booming with rage. “You are not going to win this!”

James and Peter shut up and turned in time to hear Remus say coolly, “I don’t see how I can lose.”

“Just give up! You don’t seem to understand how fucking stupid you’re being!”

“Merlin,” Peter muttered. “Is it day of the domestics or something?”

“I’m not stupid, Sirius,” Remus said and the exaggerated patience in his voice made both James and Peter back away.

Peter glanced at him. “He actually managed to piss Moony off.”

“Have you spoken to him today?”

“Once. He swore at me and threatened to flush me down a toilet if I didn’t stop smiling.”

“Fuck,” James muttered. Why couldn’t anyone just be happy? “Has someone made him think about himself?”

“Moony’s trying to seduce him,” Peter informed him cheerfully. “It’s a challenge.”

 _Oh, fuckity-fuck._ Why couldn’t Sirius just cope with emotions like anyone else? Why did he always have to analyse himself into idiocy?

“You don’t look pleased?” Peter asked.

“Sounds like a fucking disaster.”

“Don’t you think Moony can do it?”

“I’m worried about the war zone until he succeeds.”

“Fifty galleons he does it by the end of the month.”

Six days. “You’re sure of yourself.”

“Padfoot’s cracking. Come on.”

He probably had fifty galleons. How long could Sirius hold out? He managed it for years. “Done. If he cracks before the thirty-first I’ll pay up.”

“Nope,” Peter said. “If he doesn’t, I’ll pay up. If he does, you have three hours in which to propose to Lily before I apparate her into the front garden.”

“Wormtail,” James began. Then he thought about. Surely he’d have managed it by then. All profit then. “Done.”

They shook on it solemnly.

Sirius was still raging, his voice raising further and further. Then, mid-shout, there was silence.

James winced. Moony better not have killed him. It would be an arse to explain to Lily. Then he thought about what else silence might signify and whimpered, “My worktops.”

“There, there,” Peter said, patting him on the shoulder.

Then Sirius said viciously, “Don’t do that. I don’t want it.”

“Then why take it?” Remus asked, his voice still level.

“I don’t want you. That’s why I keep saying no.”

“And the times you say yes?”

There was a silence, and James tried not to look at Peter. They shouldn’t be listening to this.

“I have needs,” Sirius purred.

“Ouch,” Peter muttered.

It was another moment before Remus spoke again, his voice slightly less even, “You can’t make me hate you, Padfoot. When you’ve decided to stop trying, owl me, and I’ll come home.”

The kitchen door clicked open. James tried to pretend he hadn’t been listening. Remus walked over to the fire, arms stretched out down his sides. Sirius stumbled into the kitchen doorway, face still flushed.

“Seagull’s Rest,” Remus said precisely, casting the Floo powder in. “Bognor Regis.”

“What?” Sirius roared, paling. “Remus!”

But he was gone.

Sirius lunged for the fire. James and Peter tackled him, knocking him into the brand new sofa.

“Bad, bad idea,” Peter panted.

“Temper,” James snapped, wrapping his fingers into Sirius’ hair and pulling until he knew it must hurt. “Fight it.”

Sirius struggled wildly for a few minutes, snarling at them. Peter planted his weight on the small of his back and refused to be budged. At last Sirius sank down, pressing his face into the cushions. A few breaths later he said, muffled, “I won’t go after him.”

“Promise.”

“Honour as a Gryffindor. Can’t breathe.”

Peter got up. He sent a worried look at James and said cheerily, “Right. I’ll be off. Got a late shift. Curry tomorrow, lads?”

“Here,” James said. “Thanks for the help with the bathroom.”

“Any time.”

James waited until he was gone before he sat down on the chair opposite. Sirius seemed to be trying to suffocate himself in the cushions. “Sit up, Padfoot.”

“Worried I’ll break your sofa?”

“I’m worried you’ll break my friend,” James said. “Both my friends.”

Sirius sat up reluctantly. “Proves my point, doesn’t it?”

“The only way you’re hurting him right now is by breaking his heart.”

Sirius stared down at his hands. “It isn’t easy.”

“Then why are you doing it?”

“It’s the right thing to do.”

“No, Sirius,” James said, as gently and firmly as he could. “It’s not.”

Sirius looked up at him, eyes wide and lost. “I’ll hurt him.”

“You might,” James said. “That’s life. It’s not set in stone. But you are hurting him now. Badly.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Then don’t.”

“It’s not that fucking simple.”

“Yes, it is,” James said sternly. “It’s just that simple. Do you love him?”

“Yes,” Sirius said, as if he was surprised James had asked.

James thought of Lily, of the way his heart still leapt every time he saw her; of cold silences and thin excuses. “Don’t waste the chance, Padfoot. Some things are too good to fuck up.”

Sirius sighed. “I already fucked up.”

“Then fix it.”

“I don’t know how.”

James shrugged. “Remus seems to have a plan. Just tell him you’re a fuckwit and go with his idea.”

“Too easy.”

“Sometimes life _is_ easy.”

They sat in silence for a while before Sirius snorted and said, “Fuck. We grew up.”

“Bastard of a thing,” James agreed.

“Can I stay in the spare room?”

“It’s what it’s there for. Don’t want to go home?”

“Not on my own.” Sirius brooded over his knees, face full of gloom.

James looked around and sighed again. “I wish Lily was here.”

“Things aren’t alright with her, are they?”

“No,” James admitted miserably.

“We’re a pair of useless buggers, aren’t we?”

“Speak for yourself. Any advice?”

Sirius held his hands out in a shrug. “I’m crap at advice. Reckless bastard, remember. I’d probably just fly over there and drag her back to the house. She’s a bright girl. She’d work it out.”

“It’s fucking cold out there,” James said. “Don’t fly to Bognor tonight.”

“Wasn’t planning to. He probably wouldn’t let me in the window.”

“Do you think Lily might?”

“Worth a try.”

James jumped up, a trickle of hope moving through him. “See yourself to bed, mate. I’m off.”

“Good luck,” Sirius said, smirking, and James stopped worrying about him quite so much.

It took him forty minutes to get to Surrey, muffled in scarves and his old Quidditch robes. He tried to move unobtrusively over the rooftops, until he could sink down beside Lily’s window. The curtains were back and the light was on.

Lily wasn’t there.

Damn. She must have gone to the loo. James huddled into his scarf and waited for her to come back. After ten minutes, there was no sign of her. He flew round to the bathroom window. The light was off. There were no other lights on in the house but he shone a light through every window, in case she had fallen asleep somewhere. There was no sign of her.

He flew back up but she still wasn’t in bed.

Heart cold, James waited.

After an hour, he gave up, and flew home slowly through the cold sky.


	27. And if King Edward be as true and just

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lead, and a kiss.

Sirius hated reports. Dry, dreary, long-winded scratchings about things so horrible they should never touch paper. He’d been reading them all morning, and he’d started to forget what words like _blood_ and _burn_ and _laceration_ actually meant. They were turning grey in his mind, fitting themselves into boxes to be ticked off.

There was nothing but silence to trap their real meaning in. Ted had made them put up a silencing charm while they worked, blocking them in and the rest of the office out. Sirius hated silence. It made him think of snow and bitterness and crouching on the landing with Reggie, straining to hear in the pitch of a distant voice whether it was safe to go downstairs.

Remus hadn’t spoken a word to him all day.

He was sitting at the other desk, frowning over a pile of reports, making occasional, conscientious notes.

Sirius stared at him and thought, _I’m sorry. I love you. I didn’t mean to fuck up._

But Remus wouldn’t hear him. Why did he have to say these things out loud. Why couldn’t Remus just read his mind?

“Brooding won’t get those reports analysed.”

Sirius sighed and turned back to reading the accounts from Hester Entwhistle’s neighbours. They were beautifully scripted, bland and careful. Maybe he should go and annoy Prongs – find out whether the Obliviators archived their handwritten notes.

“Alice wants to speak to you,” Remus said, without looking up.

Sirius glanced up. Alice Longbottom was hanging over the top of the partition, miming banging on the spell. Sirius scrambled onto his desk and stuck his head out of the top of the spell.

The noise of the office swept over him and he shook his head, Padfoot-style.

“Under _silencio_ , already?” Alice asked. “Somebody’s going up in the world.”

“Hit my head on the ceiling soon. Want something?”

“Talk to you, gorgeous. One moment.”

He felt her silencing spell sigh around him, though she did not speak. Intrigued, he raised an eyebrow.

“Right,” Alice said and then blew out. “Damn. See, what I reckon is that the two of you are working on something to do with the Order, and with Radcliffe.”

Sirius felt his eyes narrow.

“Don’t have to tell me, anything, gorgeous. Either Ted’s gone as paranoid as Moody or you’re working on something he doesn’t trust us with. That means the Order.”

“And why wouldn’t he trust you on that?” Sirius asked softly.

Alice smiled and patted his cheek. “Think through both sides, Black, before you make any decisions. Ted – I’ve known him as long as I’ve known Frank, longer maybe, but he’s got odd ideas still. He still thinks of politics like a Muggle. He thinks it’s about laws and justice and democracy. You can’t apply laws to magic. It’s too unruly.”

“Andromeda agrees with him.”

Alice snorted. “Andie’s Pureblood to the bone, however much they’ve disowned her. You lot might make your own rules but once you’ve made them you stick to them. Honour, courtesy, blood. Just another set of rules. Andie chose the law.”

Sirius tossed his head. “I’ve never kept a rule in my life.”

“Yeah?” Alice said amicably. “So why are you making Lupin so miserable?”

It hadn’t been a _rule_. It was a principle - _Don’t hurt Remus._ He scowled at her. “I’m not going to. Not any more.”

“Told him that?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Can’t get the words right.”

Alice thwapped his cheek. “Just get down there and grovel, gorgeous. And remember what I said.”

“Yes, Professor. Whatever you say.” He was about to slither down when he thought better of it. He could trade a risk for a risk. “So, what did you think of Radcliffe then?”

“Alan?” She shrugged, resting her elbows on the partition. “Nice man. Didn’t talk much – not to us anyway. He and Jack tended to stick together.”

“Jack Yarwood?”

She nodded. “They were cousins. Even at school they were inseperable. Looked alike, too. No problem telling them apart once you got close, though. Alan was a moody bastard, and Jack was as cheerful as cheerful gets. Lovely bloke.”

“And Alan wasn’t?”

She frowned. “Once you knew him, yeah. Made you work for it, though. Kept himself to himself a bit.”

“Hmm,” Sirius said, letting things settle. “Cheers, Alice.”

He slid down through the spells and off his desk. “Did you hear that?”

“Not through _silencio_ ,” Remus said, not looking up. He was still staring at the same report, frowning slightly.

Sirius leant over him, thumbing through the box file. “What’s wrong?”

“Thinking. Could you move your leg? I can’t read through your thigh.”

Sirius plucked out the folders he was looking for and sat on Remus’ lap. “Better?”

“You’re still stopping me from working,” Remus said primly, but his eyes were crinkled in that way which meant amusement. “What do you want?”

 _You,_ Sirius thought and didn’t feel guilty about it. Savouring the mood, he pulled the photographs of Radcliffe and Yarwood off their files and presented them to Remus. “Which did we see?”

“Bugger,” Remus muttered. “I couldn’t say. Who’s the cheerful one?”

“Jack Yarwood.”

Remus smiled at him across the sheaf of papers. “No wonder you look so pleased with yourself. Shall we go through the Yarwood reports again?”

 _I’ve been sitting on your lap for the last few minutes and you think_ that’s _what I’m looking pleased about. Daft bugger._ “Reckon so. Opens it up a bit, doesn’t it?”

“Worth bringing Prongs in? He dealt with the Muggle survivors.”

“Moony, you are a genius. Shame we can’t get Wormtail involved.”

“Mmm,” Remus said, frowning again. “Isn’t the scene still sealed off? We should be able to get in there for another look.”

“Talk to Ted,” Sirius said.

“I can’t,” Remus said. “Some prat is trying to cut off circulation to my thighs.”

“Outrageous.”

“Utterly.” He was smiling again, and Sirius gave in to temptation. He leant forward and kissed the corner of that smile, very lightly.

Remus didn’t scold, so he leant it again and kissed him properly, nudging his lips apart. He could taste ink on his lips, and the garlicky aftertaste of the peculiar stir fry the canteen had served at lunch time.

It was a shock when his tongue brushed over Sirius’ lips, and Sirius shivered and brought his hands up to cup his face, holding him there as he hitched his way forward along Remus’ lap.

He felt the papers flop against his chest as Remus dropped them and, a moment later, Remus’ fingers twining through his hair. Sirius opened his eyes to see Remus had closed his, his lashes lying against his cheek. Sirius could see the creases on his eyelids, and the fragile blood vessels beneath the skin. How could he look so frail and be so strong?

Then he closed his eyes, pushing away worry, and gave himself up to the feel of the kiss.

“Ahem.”

Remus jerked backwards, his face flooding with colour. Sirius turned his head to grin at Ted, who was leaning against the doorway.

“Made any progress?” he asked.

Sirius smirked, and then jumped as Remus’ dug his fingernails into his thigh.

“Jack Yarwood,” Remus said. “We’re not sure which we saw, now we’ve looked at both files. Did we ever get the bodies identified?”

Ted whistled. “Of course. You never met them. I can’t believe that Jack- hell, I can’t believe it of either of them. And no, they were burnt beyond identification.”

“So Yarwood could have survived?” Sirius asked.

In the same moment, Remus said, “He was Muggleborn, Yarwood, wasn’t he? Wouldn’t there be dental records?”

“Yes, he was,” Ted said. “And, yes, there would be. Sirius, get on to St Mungos and see if they’ve got anyone who can interpret them. Remus, talk to Muggle Relations. See if you can get a copy of the records.”

“Anything else?” Sirius asked.

“Not unless you want to give me a loan. You just lost me another thirty galleons.”

“Haven’t you learnt not to bet against Meda yet?” Sirius stood up reluctantly. “St Mungos, it is, then. Oh, yeah, I was going to ask – can I drag James Potter in on this? He was Obliviator on the Yarwood case.”

Ted thought about for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine. If he can be discreet.”

“He can,” Remus said quietly, standing up. “I’m going down to Level Three to talk to Muggle Relations. Shall I send James up?”

Ted nodded at him. “Do. And could you both make a little more effort towards doing some work while you’re here, please.”

“Sorry,” Remus muttered, slithering out.

“My fault,” Sirius said. “It always is.”

“I have no doubt of it,” Ted said wryly. “Now do some work, Sirius.”


	28. To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lead in the Radcliffe case, and the boys finally get some time together.

“So neither the body you’ve got or the dental remains from the fire match Yarwood, then?” James asked, flicking through his notes. “Is that useful?”

“Not really,” Remus said. “It could just mean we didn’t find his teeth.”

“Guess we know what we’re going to be sifting through the ashes for, then,” Sirius said gloomily, trying to read over James’ shoulder. “Your handwriting’s crap.”

“Fuck off,” James said absently, pausing over a page. “I can read it.”

“Why don’t you write Lily a letter about mustard?” Sirius asked. “It’ll probably come out as will you-”

“Remus, shut him up.”

“I’m not involved. Fuck, it’s cold.”

“Snow’s gone,” Sirius said, looking around. There was still slush in the shadow of the broken walls. Elsewhere the ground was wet and cold, ashes mixed with mud. Moody and Ted were standing in the shadow of the wall, talking quietly.

“About time,” James said. “I want to see my bloody garden now I’ve got one. Hang on, can you hear a car?”

He could, an engine growling as it grew closer.

“Landrover,” Remus said and raised his voice, “Tonks! Muggle company!”

“Get Potter to deal with it. He’s the Obliviator.”

James put his hand above his eyes, squinting through the winter sunlight as the green landrover came rocking up the drive. “It’s the farmwife,” he said.

“Talk to her, then, you wanker,” Sirius growled, shoving his hands into his pockets. Too fucking cold. Were there even any hills between here and Siberia? He’d freeze solid soon, and then they’d all be sorry.

“Tut, tut,” James said. “Be a good dog, and Remus might put you on the leash later.”

“Piss off, Prongs,” Remus said half-heartedly, and Sirius felt warmer.

James was already jogging away. Remus looked after him and shivered. “Poor woman.”

Sirius didn’t want to think about families and war and who might survive the inevitable. “Yeah.”

It was the first time he’d had a chance to be alone with Remus today. He felt oddly self-conscious. Bugger it, Moony had finally turned him into a girl.

He hunched his shoulders and asked, “How’s your dad, then? Good evening last night?”

“He’s fine,” Remus said, looking puzzled. “Busy. He’s using the money I send home to pay a girl to come in and do the cleaning. Makes it easier.”

“Right,” Sirius said, his shoulders relaxing. That meant Remus didn’t _need_ to live at home. One more excuse demolished.

“He reckons the Floo will be running on Monday,” Remus added.

“Oh,” Sirius said miserably, and tried to think of a way to permanently disable the Floo at Bognor station. There must be something he could burn…

“Told him it didn’t matter,” said Remus.

“Eh?” Sirius was startled out of a particularly detailed plan to pin Bella’s corpse to the grid.

Remus was looking down, fiddling with one of the toggles on his duffel coat. The tip of his nose was pink, but his tone was perfectly reasonable as he said, “Well, I live with you now, don’t I?”

Sirius opened his mouth and then shut it. Then he grinned, too delighted to speak.

“Sirus! Remus!” James called, sounding grim. “Get the others!”

Sirius exchanged a startled glance with Remus, who nodded and set off after Ted and Moody. Sirius loped over to James.

“I remember you,” the woman said hoarsely, leaning out of the car to squint at him. “You found Stevie. Poor little Stevie. What have you done with him, eh?”

“He’s back at school,” Sirius said. “There’s a lot of people looking after him.”

“About bloody time,” the woman said. “Too little, too late. None of you ever worried about him before, did you? None of you.”

“We hoped he would be safe with his father,” Ted said quietly behind them. “We were all devastated to be wrong.”

“His _father_ ,” she echoed, and spat on the ground. “You think young Stevie was safe with that man?”

The quality of the silence changed. Sirius felt as if the whole world was listening.

“I never let my boys be alone with him. I’d have had the whole lot of them out if he’d been here often, but Ruth and the boys were good folk. Poor Ruth.” She choked. “Gone. Gone, like my boys.”

James put his hand over hers. “I’m sorry, Mrs Forbes. We’re here to stop them hurting anyone else’s family. What can you tell us about Jack Yarwood?”

“He was a bad man,” she said flatly. “A bad, bad man. They were scared of him, his boys. Terrified to be near him. And Ruth – she didn’t say much, but she said enough. Too scared to leave him, poor thing.”

“Jack Yarwood,” Ted said, sounding stunned.

The woman shuddered. “Damn him. Damn him. My boys – my boys are dead because of the likes of him.” She pounded her fist against the edge of the window. “Damn him.”

James jerked his head at them and they retreated.

“Jack Yarwood,” Ted said again, his voice turning grim. “I knew him at school.”

“Even Grindelwald was a boy once,” Moody growled. “Well, Lupin, what did we learn?”

“Steven knew enough to be scared of his dad,” Remus said promptly. “Which means we need to talk to him again.”

“Correction,” Moody snapped. “You need to talk to him. Tonks and I can follow up the London end of things. You two get your arses up to Scotland. Ministry only pays for standing tickets so don’t even try it, Black.”

“Blacks always travel first class,” Sirius said loftily.

“Not when the ministry’s paying, they don’t,” Ted said, his voice still strained.

The landrover’s engine roared back into life, and James walked back over, his face sober.

“I charmed her,” he said shortly. “She’ll get home safely.”

“Well done,” Ted said, and shoved his hands in his pockets, turning to gaze out towards the sea.

“Anything more to do here?” James asked.

“No,” Moody said. “Get home.”

“We’ll see you and Lily for dinner tomorrow, right?” Ted said with a forced cheerfulness.

James nodded, trying to smile. “Looking forward to it. We really appreciate the invitation.”

“Thank Andie tomorrow,” Ted said. “I’ll see you two on Monday. Sooner if the kid tells you something urgent.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. He was more worried about catching Remus before he vanished back to Bognor. Except Remus had said…

Trying to be subtle, he muttered, “You coming to London?”

“I think so,” Remus said. “We need to talk.”

“Hah,” James said. “Wormtail owes me.”

Moody was glaring at them. “What’s the date?”

“Twenty-seventh,” Ted said, and added, with a touch of malice. “You’re behind the times, Alastor. Frank won the whole lot yesterday.”

“Whole lot of what?” Sirius demanded, as Remus spluttered and protested, “You ran a sweepstake?”

“Nobody asked me to join,” James protested.

“Wrong floor, mate,” Ted said, smirking. “Lily had the twenty-ninth.”

Sirius opened his mouth to express his opinion of all this, but Remus grabbed his wrist and said firmly, “Later, Sirius. It’s time to go home.”

He knew there was a stupid smile on his face. Their smirks confirmed it. He ignored them with the last of his dignity and said to Remus, “Apparate when you’re ready.”

Moments later, they were in his living room. He’d left the lights on this morning, and the room felt scorching hot. He reached up to pull his scarf off.

Remus backed him into a bookcase.

Sirius, his hands still tangled in wool and tassles, didn’t have time to protest before Remus’ mouth was on his, hot and urgent. Heat surged through him, and he moaned, fighting to free his hands.

Remus shoved forward, until books tumbled down around them and Sirius could feel the lines of the shelves pressing into his back. He lifted his hands helplessly, and gasped at how the motion pushed him forward against Remus. Giving in, he tipped his head backwards and rolled his hips forward, riding Remus’ thigh.

They were home, home safe. No one could stop them. No one could find them. They had all the time in the world and neither of them was running anymore.

Remus was moaning into his kiss, a series of breathy little cries that made Sirius never want to stop. He wanted to wrap his arms around Remus and never let go again, but he couldn’t because his hands, his hands were still trapped.

He was so hot. He had to get rid of his coat, his scarf, anything, everything. If he did that, he would be able to feel Remus.

He wasn’t going to pull his mouth away to say so, so he pressed his hips forward and hoped Remus would take the hint.

He was rewarded with a muffled curse, and Remus jerked away, fumbling with the toggles of his coat.

“Hands!” Sirius gasped, leaning forward. Remus’ cheeks were flushed, and he could see each jerky breath as it rushed out of him.

He saw Remus consider it, a line appearing between his brows.

Sirius scrabbled at the scarf, jerking one hand free before Remus could concoct some devious plan that would leave him utterly helpless. A quick shake had the scarf dropping onto the pile of books, and he shoved his hands inside Remus’ coat. Remus’ old jumper was soft and rough with nubs of wool, and Sirius sighed and slid his hands round and down and under, until his palms pressed against soft skin and smooth, hard scars.

Remus tipped his head back and shrugged his coat off, fumbling for the zip on Sirius’ jacket.

Sirius pushed at him, shoving away from the shelves. As they stumbled backwards, he brought his hands up, and his jacket and Remus’ jumper went flying, sleeves tangled. Another jerk had Remus’ shirt off too, and Sirius wrapped his arms around bare skin with a moan, and kissed him again.

Remus opened his mouth under his, warm and fierce. He tasted like tea and cornflakes, and smelt like wet duffel coat, and Sirius didn’t ever want to let go. Remus was pushing back at him, but Sirius had momentum on his side and he kept walking until they hit the back of the sofa. Remus swayed for balance, clutching at him wildly, and Sirius snorted with laughter, burying his face against Remus’ neck.

Remus thwapped his arm and tugged at his t-shirt. Their hands wound together pulling it off, and then Remus untangled his fingers to grab Sirius’ hips, pulling them together tightly. Sirius’ breath shuddered out of him as he felt the press of Remus’ erection against his.

He couldn’t stop himself from moaning, and choked on a curse. Too fast. Too fast. They had all the time in the world.

To try and stop himself from coming right now, he gasped, “I thought we were meant to be talking.”

“We are talking,” Remus said reasonably, his hands busy with Sirius’ fly. “Our mouths are open and words are coming out.”

“I think you’re missing the point,” Sirius said, and flung his head back as Remus’ hand closed gently round his cock. “Oh, _fuck_ , Moony.”

“See. Mouth. Words.”

Sirius hooked his hand into Remus’ trousers to stop himself from flailing. He could feel heat beat through him, in time with the press of Remus’ hands.

“Fuck,” he gasped again. “Fuck me.”

Remus’ hand stilled, and he said hoarsely, “Now?”

“Please,” Sirius whimpered, his fingers clumsy as he tried to get Remus’ trousers off. Why the hell was he still wearing anything?

“Bed,” Remus said and stumbled forward, trying to drag Sirius’ jeans the rest of the way down.

They made it to the wall.

Sirius had managed to get rid of everything but one sock. Remus still had his trousers around his ankles and he tripped, stumbling into Sirius. Sirius caught himself on the wall, and Remus flattened himself against his back, his hand snaking round to stroke again.

Sirius moaned, beyond words, and rocked back. He could feel Remus pressed between the cheeks of his arse and it wasn’t enough. He wanted more.

Remus gasped a spell, and Sirius wailed as the magic prickled warmly through him, stretching, slicking. Remus’ hand stroked over his arse, fingers probing gently, and Sirius shook his head wildly.

“No,” he gasped. “You.”

Remus gasped something that was probably supposed to be words. Sirius ignored him to brace himself against the wall. He pushed backwards, demanding what he couldn’t shape words to describe.

Remus moaned, and buried his face against Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius hissed in triumph as he felt the hot nudge of Remus’ cock where his fingers had been.

“Is this?” Remus started, and Sirius pushed back onto him. It was going to be fast. It had to be fast.

“Pushy,” Remus murmured, on a gust of laughter and heat, and thrust forward, one hand pressing over Sirius’ until the rough plaster dug grooves in his palm.

“Oh!” Remus said, voice catching, and Sirius abandoned his last control, arching back between Remus’ warmth and the cold wall. Remus’ fingers were digging into his hip, and with every thrust he felt fire rush through him, until his eyes stung and his skin prickled with heat.

Remus was choking on his name, driving him against the wall. His hand crept round, and Sirius felt long fingers catch around his cock. The touch was enough to finish him, and he howled, and melted, coming in a rush.

By the time he could see again, Remus had collapsed limply against his back, his arms looped tightly around Sirius’ waist.

“Moony,” Sirius said. If there had been any strength left in his legs, he would have danced.

“Eh? Mmm.”

Sirius bit back a declaration to say, “Don’t go to sleep.”

“I’m not,” Remus said, rubbing his cheek against the back of Sirius’ neck. “I’m happy.”

Sirius squirmed round to face him, and yelped as his previously warm back hit the cold wall. Remus snorted, and kissed him, pressing him back against the wall until he wriggled free.

“Evil git,” Sirius said. “My evil git.”

Remus smiled at him, as if there were no such things as full moons and murderers, and began to walk them backwards. “Bed.”

“To talk?” Sirius asked, quickening his pace to shove them through the doorway.

Remus looked bewildered. “No.”

“Your sort of talking,” Sirius said, grinning open-mouthed. “The sort where you open your mouth and words come out.”

“Oh,” said Remus, his cheeks flushing again.

“Precisely,” Sirius said and toppled them both onto the waiting bed.


	29. And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius travel back to Hogwarts to question Steven Yarwood about his father.

Remus was having a very good dream.

It was the sort of dream that was half-memory, and all Sirius. Not that Sirius was in it, as such. It wasn’t formed enough for that. There was just warm red rushes, and the drowning sense that his bones were melting and his senses washing away. It was the sort of dream which could only mean Sirius, and only be a dream, because in real life Sirius would never have his mouth closed over Remus’ cock. Not any more.

There was something wrong with that thought, but his brain was spinning and he couldn’t pin down the error. Instead, he wound his fingers into the sheets and whimpered, letting his hips buck up, thrusting into that dream mouth. He didn’t want to wake up.

Firm hands pressed his hips down against the mattress, and that hot, wet mouth slid down, surrounding him. He felt soft hair brush his thighs.

Remus woke up, his breath catching in his throat.

He opened his eyes, blinking down. It was still dark, though the streetlight glowed orange through the curtains.

Sirius looked up at him from between his legs, eyes flame-bright with glee, cheeks hollowed.

“Oh,” Remus managed and sank back against the pillows. What was happening? What had happened? Oh, why wouldn’t his brain work?

He felt the shudder go up his spine, and yelped something he hoped was a warning. Then he was coming, and Sirius, _fuck_ , was swallowing, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t…

The next thing he knew was Sirius thumping down next to him, pressing against his side. Remus turned his head to stare at him, his sleep-fogged mind beginning to remember.

Sirius smirked at him, looking all too pleased with himself.

There had been the bookshelf, and the wall, and the bed, and then they had got hungry, and there had been the kitchen table, and the sofa, and _bloody hell_ no wonder he was aching.

“Morning,” Sirius said smugly.

“When’s the train?” Remus croaked.

“Nine.”

“Time now?”

“Early,” Sirius said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Good,” Remus said, propping himself up on his elbows.

“Why’s that?”

Remus pounced.

*

Inevitably, they had to run for the train.

Remus hobbled up platform nine-and-three-quarters, tickets clutched in his hand. Sirius was hanging out of a door in the first class carriage, one foot on the train and the other on the platform. A red-faced guard was trying to lever his leg onto the train.

Remus swung his foot onto the step, gasping, “Excuse me,” to the guard.

Sirius dragged him in, and the guard spluttered, “You mean to say you didn’t even have a _ticket_!”

“I’ve got one now,” Sirius said, slamming the door shut.

The guard looked like he was about to protest, but the engine was billowing steam, and he stepped back and blew his whistle.

“Hah!” Sirius said, leaning out the window.

Remus shed his coat, and turned around in time to drag Sirius back in just before they entered the first tunnel, as was his traditional duty.

Sirius chuckled, and said, “Do you know what’s special about travelling first class, Moony?”

“The price?” Remus said. He didn’t have Sirius’ ideological objections to travelling standard class.

“Nope,” Sirius said, and crossed the compartment. With a smirk, he drew the blinds down and locked the door. Then he turned and began to pace towards Remus, grinning.

“Not on public transport,” Remus said hastily.

By Doncaster, an hour and a half later, he’d changed his mind. The seats were just wide enough that he could lie back in Sirius’ arms, and the slow happiness bubbling through him made him loath to argue when Sirius worked his hand under his coat and into his trousers.

“What if someone comes to check our tickets?” he murmured, turning his head to kiss Sirius’ jaw.

“They’ll have to knock,” Sirius said, stroking slowly.

Remus stared at the rain running down the windows, and felt his brain begin to melt again.

At York, the sun came out, reflecting off the snow that still blanketed the vale. Sirius chuckled in Remus’ ear and said, “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York.”

“Shakespeare?” Remus asked incredulously, pulling back. “You?”

“Why not?” Sirius demanded, looking affronted. “One of my third cousins married his great-granddaughter. Plus a few greats, of course.”

“Shakespeare was a Muggle,” Remus said firmly.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, “but his son was a wizard. You didn’t think _The Tempest_ was an accident, did you?”

Remus eyed him suspiciously. The mention of Shakespeare made him remember what he had actually _meant_ to discuss with Sirius on this journey, and his stomach turned. Now was the time – they still had almost five hours before they got to Hogsmeade which should give him enough time to calm Sirius down.

He removed Sirius’ hands from inside his shirt and said, “About _Richard III_? You remember Pete and Lily went to see it? Has Pete said anything about it?”

“No,” Sirius said, eyes narrowing. “Just that it was bloody boring.”

“So he didn’t mention the Death Eaters?”

“What Death Eaters?” Sirius demanded, jumping up.

Remus caught himself against the window and said, “The Death Eaters concealed in the audience who killed one of the actresses and were then embroiled in a battle with a group Turpin is convinced were the Order of the Phoenix.”

Sirius slammed his hands down on the luggage rack. “Fuck. Prongs doesn’t know. I’d know if he did.”

Remus, who was trying to do his trousers up, bit his lip. “Which means Lily’s not talking, either.”

Sirius’ fingers curled around the bars of the rack. Then he stilled, shoulders tight. Remus, who recognised the beginnings of inspiration, curled into the corner of the seat and waited.

“Alan Radcliffe’s tobacco tin,” Sirius said at last, his voice unnervingly mild.

“You thought the design was unusual – some sort of clown.”

“No,” Sirius said, still not turning round. “It’s the pied piper. And Alan Radcliffe didn’t smoke roll-ups. But you know who does.”

“Peter,” Remus said, though he was sure it was a rhetorical question.

“He’s in the Order,” Sirius said, which was a few jumps further than Remus had dared to go. “Him _and_ Lily. And not us.”

“That’s-”

“Little shit.” Sirius swung round. “He knew Radcliffe! What’s the next stop? We’re going back to London!”

“Darlington,” Remus said, “and we’re not. Dumbledore is expecting us. If Steven doesn’t tell us anything useful, you can interrogate Wormtail tomorrow.”

“With ferrets,” Sirius hissed.

Remus snorted with laughter, then tried to swallow it and choked.

Sirius thumped him on the back and then sank down into the seat next to him.

“Ferrets?” Remus said.

“Ravenous ferrets,” Sirius said gloomily. “I can’t believe bloody Wormtail beat us to it. Him and his job. Paperwork. Gah.”

Remus put his head on Sirius’ shoulder. “I told you he wasn’t working in a strip club.”

Sirius muttered under his breath.

Remus yawned.

“Tired?” Sirius demanded, poking him in the ribs.

“Some wanker kept me up all night.”

Sirius beamed proudly. “I know.”

“Wake me up after Edinburgh,” Remus said, and wrapped an arm loosely around Sirius’ neck. If he was asleep on him when they got to Darlington, Sirius wouldn’t be able to run back to London.

“Edinburgh’s hours away,” Sirius grumbled, but wrapped his arms around Remus. “I’ll get bored.”

“Tough,” Remus murmured and closed his eyes.

When he did wake the sky was blue with dusk. He could see snow outside the windows, and mountains in the distance.

“Where are we?” he murmured.

“We just went through Kirkcaldy,” Sirius said. He had moved a little, but he hadn’t let go.

“Nearly there,” Remus said.

“Yes,” Sirius said, an odd note in his voice. Remus looked up at him, puzzled. Sirius was looking down at him, his face still and serious. Remus shivered.

“Moony,” Sirius said.

“Yes?”

“You do know that I love you, right?”

 _Oh._ Remus felt the smile break out of him. “I hoped you did,” he said.

Sirius made an odd choking noise and grabbed him. Remus lunged up and kissed him, and was shocked to realise he was shaking.

The train shuddered as it left the main track, plunging into the tunnel that carried them under the mountains to Hogsmeade. For a moment they were in darkness, and Remus kissed him blindly.

Then the lamps flickered and brightened, and the train settled back into its steady clatter. Sirius sighed, and settled back against the seat, pulling Remus down with him.

“We’re nearly there,” Remus said.

“We’ve got twenty minutes,” Sirius murmured. “At least.”

“We should have spent more train journeys doing this.”

“Mmm,” Sirius said, nibbling his ear. “We’ve got the rest of our lives.”

It was cold when they staggered out of the train, so cold that Sirius half-coughed, half-barked, and Remus shuddered with it. They crunched along the snow-laden platform, and out of the side gate of the station. Someone had shovelled the snow to the sides of the lane.

Hagrid was there, with the trap, bulky and fierce in his heavy coat. Claw was beside him on the seat, head on his lap. He turned to stare at them as they came out, and Remus hesitated.

Then he said, “There yeh are, at last. Headmaster’s waiting for yeh.”

“Brilliant,” Sirius said, scrambling up. “Thought we’d have to walk. Bloody freezing up here.”

“Another three inches last night,” Hagrid said. “You alright there, Remus?”

“Fine, thanks,” Remus said, and settled beside Sirius. “And you? Everything okay at the school?”

“Jus’ fine,” Hagrid said, and leant forward. “Away now, Clover.”

They creaked off. The lane was black with ice, and the lamp cast red reflections from it. Clover’s hooves clicked sharply. A faint crack sounded from the forest; a branch breaking under the burden of the snow.

Sirius put his arm around Remus’ waist. Remus pressed warningly against his shoulder.

Clouds were building over the lake, low and heavy. The lights of Hogwarts seemed pale below them. The lake itself was dull, frozen and quiet.

Claw whined hopefully. Sirius reached out and scratched his ears. “Does he still like chocolate buttons?”

The dog thumped his tail at the words.

“Bad fer his teeth,” Hagrid said gloomily. “He’s off ‘em. Young Steven’s being trying to tempt him with cheese straws.”

“Poor old Claw,” Sirius said solemnly. “That’s no fate for a noble hound.”

“How is Steven?” Remus asked.

Hagrid gave him a sharp look, but said nothing.

The gates were open, but Remus noticed they weren’t bolted back. It would only take a moment to swing them shut, closing out the world.

Hagrid took them as far as the doors, then stopped. “Out with yeh, then. Need to get Clover in the warm.”

“Thanks for the lift,” Remus said, jumping down. Someone was already cracking the doors open.

The trap rumbled away, and Professor Flitwick said, “Quick, quick, boys. Don’t let in the cold.”

They hurried in. Remus paused on the threshold for a moment, dazzled by the familiar smell of school food and potions, sweaty Quidditch kit and damp corridors. He’d never realised Hogwarts smelt like home.

“Come on, Remus,” Sirius said impatiently, and he shook himself and hurried to catch up.

“Young Mr Yarwood is waiting with the headmaster,” Flitwick said breathily, half-running to keep up with them.

They both turned right automatically, heading for a different staircase.

“I see you already know the way,” Flitwick squeaked.

Sirius didn’t even have the grace to look abashed. He bounded ahead. Remus, who was worried that Flitwick might explode if he went any faster, slowed down.

At the corner before Dumbledore’s office Sirius stopped dead. He gestured sharply, and Remus crept forward.

“…wouldn’t want anyone to think I was being remiss,” Professor Slughorn was saying.

“Not at all, Horace,” Dumbledore said. “Thank you for being so, ah, prompt to inform me. I suggest you return to the dungeons, and if the students you have – what was it?”

“Mislaid,” Slughorn said, with the hint of a smirk.

“Mislaid,” Dumbledore repeated gently. “I see. Well, if Mr Black and his friends should return, please inform me immediately. Thank you, Horace.”

“No trouble at all, Albus,” Slughorn said. Remus barely heard him walk away. Sirius was utterly still. Remus grabbed his arm, digging his fingers in until it had to hurt.

“Trouble, Albus?” Flitwick asked, hurrying past them.

“Ah, Filius. There you are. Would you join us, please. Remus, Sirius, do come up.”

For a moment, Remus thought Sirius would refuse to move. Then the rage vanished, and he walked forward, pulling Remus with him. “Hello, Professor,” he said, grinning. “Is it boring without us?”

Remus decided not to look at his eyes.

“Strangely, Mr Black,” Dumbledore said dryly, “I believe most of my staff are enjoying the respite. Would you care to speak to Steven now?”

Steven Yarwood was staring out of the office window. He whirled as they came, his eyes wide with fear.

“Hello, Steven,” Remus said, as gently as he could.

Steven gave him a jerky nod. He looked pale, and there were shadows below his eyes.

Dumbledore sat down, and Flitwick steered Steven to the chair beside him. Remus sat down opposite, and Sirius leant on the wall behind him, crossing his arms.

“We’d like to ask you some questions, Steven,” Remus said gently. “I don’t want to upset you but it might help some other people.”

“I understand,” Steven said, his voice shaking.

“Tell us about your father, Steven,” Remus said.

Dumbledore sat up slightly. Steven’s eyes widened, and he said, “My dad? He- he was an Auror.”

“We talked to Mrs Forbes,” Sirius said. “She was close to your Mum, wasn’t she?”

Steven nodded. His fingers had clenched around the arm of the chair.

“Steven,” Remus began but Sirius spoke over him, “We know, Steven. We know, but we don’t know why. You can’t lie for him forever, Steven. Just because he’s family, it doesn’t mean he’s right.”

“He’s my _dad_!” Steven protested.

Remus heard Sirius’ breath hiss in, and knew he had heard the tense too.

“When did he last contact you, Steven?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steven said. “My dad’s dead.”

“And did you know Alan Radcliffe was too?” Sirius flashed.

“Uncle Alan?” Steven blurted, blanching.

Remus touched Sirius’ wrist, hoping he’d take the warning. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Tell us about him, Steven. He was a good man.”

“He said – he said to Mum-”

“What did he say?”

Steven looked down. “He’d said he’d take us away. Somewhere safe. I didn’t want to. Dad – Dad was protecting us.”

“The moment protection means killing innocents, it becomes a lie,” Sirius said flatly.

Steven looked up, his face tight with anger. Remus saw him meet Sirius’ gaze over his head, and tried not to move. Sirius didn’t say anything.

Steven looked down, bringing his hands up to cover his face. “They were going to hurt us,” he said, in a whisper. “They made him do it. He was just protecting us.”

“What happened then?” Remus asked.

Steven shook his head.

Dumbledore cleared his throat.

They all looked at him, even Steven. He met Steven’s gaze, his face steady.

Steven took a breath. “They said he failed. Uncle Alan _knew_ , and all the others could have worked it out. So he – he-”

“It’s alright,” Remus said. “We know about the others. What happened next?”

“He couldn’t catch him – Uncle Alan. He was too good. And they found us – the farm. And you – you found me.”

Remus nodded. “Where is he now, Steven? All the others are dead.”

Steven shook his head. “No. They’re not.”

“Oliver Sugden,” Sirius said, ticking them off on his fingers. “Lucia Peverall, Daffyd Powell, Hester Entwhistle and her family, Alan Radcliffe. That’s everyone who went after the Hexcombe coven.”

Steven looked down at his hands again. “Someone ordered them to investigate. There’s still one left.”

“Who?” Sirius demanded, and Remus felt his throat go cold. “Whose order was it?”

Steven looked up, running his teeth over his lip. Then he said, so quietly Remus could barely hear him, “Auror Tonks.”


	30. As I am subtle, false, and treacherous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Order of the Phoenix.

“Andromeda!” Sirius roared, shoving forward.

Remus shot to his feet in time to grab his wrist hard enough to stop him. Sirius whipped his head round to glare at him, trying to wrench free. At the sight of his face Remus dug his fingers in with what he hoped was bruising strength. Sirius had not fought down his rage about Regulus at all. He had merely allowed it to build.

Behind him Dumbledore was saying something gentle to Steven. Remus couldn’t spare the attention to listen. He was still focussed on his silent battle with Sirius. His arms burnt with the effort of holding him back. Sirius managed a step forward, wrenching both of their wrists. Remus braced his feet and shoved back, hard.

Sirius stumbled into the chair, and Remus stepped forward. If he could trap him until his sanity came back…

The door closed, and Sirius sagged back against the arm of the chair. He still looked murderous, and his pupils were too wide, but he wasn’t trying to get past anymore. Remus relaxed his grip and turned round.

Steven and Flitwick had gone. Dumbledore was bent over the fire, stirring the coals until the flames leapt high.

“I do believe,” he said, without turning, “that it is time for us to depart.”

Sirius didn’t speak, so Remus said, “To the Tonkses?” It was beginning to sink in. Ted was Yarwood’s next target.

And Regulus Black was missing from his bed.

“Not yet,” Dumbledore said, taking a pinch of Floo powder. “First, let us summon aid.” He tossed the pinch into the fire. “Hogsthorpe Farm!”

Remus hesitated, but then dashed after Dumbledore before the fire could die, dragging Sirius with him, quivering and taut.

They emerged into a big, stone-floored kitchen. A long table ran down the centre, covered with maps and piles of flame-coloured feathers.

Alice Longbottom was standing in the doorway opposite, a feathered mask dangling from her hand, her face slack with surprise.

“What the hell?” she started.

“It wasn’t Radcliffe,” Remus said. “It’s Yarwood. He’s still alive.”

Sirius shoved past him. “He’s gone after Ted. Why the fuck aren’t we doing something?”

“Now, now, Mr Black,” Dumbledore said. “It will not help to be over hasty.” He turned back to the fire. “Let us see. Number Ten, Church Road, St Paul’s Cray.”

The fire died down.

Then it roared up, flames exploding into the kitchen. Remus staggered, and felt Sirius drag him out of the way.

“Oh, shit,” Alice said. “Andie!” She twisted round, shouting, “Emergency! Emergency!”

There were already people running from elsewhere in the building, and Alice pushed out of the doorway, letting them through.

Dumbledore, flames still licking around his feet, turned to greet them, his face stern.

“Who the fuck are _they?_ ” a small woman demanded. “Dumbledore? What’s going on?”

Behind her, a familiar voice hissed, “Shit!” and Remus turned in time to see Peter try to duck behind Frank Longbottom. Sirius snarled in his ear.

“Not _more_ of your friends, Pettigrew?” the woman snapped.

“Ah, Marlene,” Dumbledore said. “Perhaps you could summon more of our number. We have somewhat of a problem.”

“We need to get back to London,” Alice said. “If it’s just Jack, Ted and Andie can hold him, but Ted will call HQ for reinforcements.”

“But it’s not,” Remus said, things falling into place. “He’s operating independently of the Death Eaters, but they’re involved too. They’re following Yarwood. And they’re killing everyone who knows he’s alive.”

“And trying to blame it on us,” Alice said, eyes fierce.

Remus nodded. “Because Yarwood didn’t do what they wanted, and because he knows who they are.”

“So why the fuck are we standing here talking?” Marlene demanded. “Pettigrew, do something useful.”

“I’m working on it,” Peter said calmly. “Give me some space.”

Everyone moved, clearing space around the table. Peter shoved forward, shaking out a cloth. Glowing runes writhed across it, reshaping as Peter clenched his fist round his wand and muttered. Everyone leant forward.

“What’s he doing?” Remus hissed to Alice.

“Aligning a portkey,” she hissed back, eyes dark with worry.

Peter stopped and stepped back, watching the runes moved. Then he grinned at Remus, lips tight, “Bit like drawing a map, this.”

Red lines zagged across the creamy cloth, bright as blood. Peter swore and began to cast again.

“Apparation block,” Alice hissed. “How far ahead of us are they?”

“I don’t know,” Remus muttered, and remembered something that might make it better. Or worse. “James and Lily should be there. There’s four of them.”

Sirius stiffened behind him. His arm was still locked around Remus’ waist, but now it felt as hard as rock.

Peter stumbled over the spell, staring at him in shock. Then he took a breath and began again, rolling the Latin out with liquid speed. The red lines shimmered and then the cloth flashed blue, the undyed threads drowning in curls of colour.

“We’re in,” Peter said. “I can’t get closer than half a mile, but we’re in.”

Around the table, people were lifting feathered masks to their faces, and gripping their wands grimly. Remus recognised Frank and Alice, a round woman who he thought was an Auror – Hestia something - one of the Prewitt brothers, his hair almost as bright as his mask, and a tall man with limp hair who had been a Ravenclaw prefect when they were firsties.

“I’ve got the umbrella,” Marlene said.

“Portkey out again,” Alice hissed. “Oy! McKinnon! We need two more masks over here.”

“They’re not coming!”

“Ten,” Peter said. “Nine.”

“I’m not stopping them.”

“Seven, six.”

“I don’t need a mask,” Sirius said, his voice shaking, and reached around Remus to grab the edge of the cloth. Remus grabbed on beside him, so their fingers locked together, and just had time to suddenly think, oh, shit, Prongs! Lily!

Then the world was spinning around them.

There was no snow in south London. Only the quiet dark streets, and the distant rattle of a train. The air was crisp and still, and a startled cat stopped to glare at them where they huddled in the middle of the road.

“Which way?” the Ravenclaw asked.

Sirius pointed, setting off at a run, and they all started after him.

Remus fell in beside Peter, who was huffing for breath. “How long?” he asked.

“September,” Peter wheezed. “Do you know where the - _fuck_!”

The night came rolling back at them as the sky flashed red with a noise like stone tearing.

“Andromeda!” Sirius roared.

Two streams of light flared into the sky. One unfolded into a vast skull, grinning greenly as the snake slid from its mouth. The other took flight on wings of fire, a phoenix swooping through the night.

“That’s Evans!” someone shouted. “She’s alive!”

Remus was running too fast to ask questions.

They burst into the road to find every door open, and people leaning into the street, shouting questions at each other.

The Tonks’ house was on fire, flames snarling out of the windows.

Alice skidded to a halt, and Remus dodged around her. She cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed, “Get inside! There may be more bombs!”

There was a body on the front path, arched in agony, and still laced with green fire. Frank dropped to his knees beside it.

A dark-robed figure appeared around the edge of the house, wand levelled.

Remus roared, “ _Stupefy!_ ” and shoved Frank aside as green light flashed. The Death Eater dodged back into the shadows before Remus’ spell could touch him.

“Thanks,” Frank gasped, rising to his knees to point the other way. “ _Incendio!_ ”

There was a rush of flame across the dry bushes of the front garden, and Remus heard a woman scream. Frank grabbed his elbow and dragged him into the corner of the porch. “It’s Jack!” he gasped. “He’s dead.”

Remus couldn’t bring himself to care. He had no compassion for Jack Yarwood. There was too much blood on his hands.

Sirius slammed into the porch beside them. “I can’t get near the back door. They’re inside as well – saw them through the window.”

“Wands out,” Frank said, and reached for the door. He shoved at it, and it stayed solid. His muttered spell only produced a hiss of sparks.

“We’re at your back!” Alice yelled. “Get in there!”

“Shoulders!” Frank snapped, and Remus shoved himself against the door, between the other two. Three time they rammed against the wood and then the door burst open before them.

Smoke billowed out around them, and a curse came winging at his head. Remus recognised the voice behind it and bellowed, “Lily!”

“Here!” she screamed.

He ducked down, shoving his robes over his mouth to keep the smoke out. He couldn’t see who else was in the hall with him, but he could feel Sirius at his shoulder.

Andromeda Tonks was slumped at the bottom of the stairs, shaking. Her fingers were still tight around her wand, but her hand was jerking too hard to aim. Lily was crouched over her, teeth bared.

Sirius shoved past to drop beside them. “Meda!”

“Sirius!” Lily gasped. “They’re in the house.”

“Where’s Prongs?”

“With Ted. Kitchen – trying to hold the back. Remus – Nym! One of them - up there!”

Sirius surged to his feet, lunging for the stairs. Frank was already crouching beside Lily, so Remus didn’t hesitate. He took the stairs at Sirius’ heels, grasping his wand so tightly his knuckles burnt.

The air was hot, and it was hard to take a breath. Sirius didn’t slow, though.

They burst into Nym’s room, the door crashing back.

A Death Eater was bent over the bed, lifting Nym. She was screaming, clawing at his face.

Sirius roared, “Drop her!”

The Death Eater whirled, his mask coming away in Nym’s small hands.

It was Regulus Black.


	31. Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Regulus drew a breath, and lifted his wand, pointing it unerringly at Sirius’ chest._

Regulus stared at them. His eyes were wide and dark, and in the shadowy light the resemblance between him and Sirius was frightening.

Then he smiled. “Fancy meeting you here. Though I suppose all the running and shouting is perfectly in character.”

“Put her down, Reggie,” Sirius said flatly. “Put her down and go back to school, like a dutiful son.”

“No,” Regulus said, tightening his arm around Nym’s waist, and gripping his wand more tightly. Remus could see his hand shaking.

“Don’t make me make you, Reggie,” Sirius said, stepping forward.

Regulus lifted his wand. “Don’t! Not another step! Or I’ll hurt her!”

“So much for blood loyalty.”

“You can’t be loyal to a traitor.”

“And who made Meda a traitor, Reggie? Who cast her off? Who chooses how to define traitor? _I’ve_ never tried to kill _you._ ”

“I didn’t know it was you!” Regulus snapped, his face contorting. “It’s not my fault you’re on the wrong fucking side!”

Nym was kicking wildly at his legs, struggling to break free. Remus, watching them glare at each other, began to drift around the edge of the room. There was smoke furling across the ceiling.

His foot landed on something soft and brightly coloured, and it let out a high squeak. Regulus whirled, robes flaring out. “Don’t you fucking try it, Lupin! Neither of you move. I’ll apparate.”

“You can’t,” Sirius said coldly. “There are apparition wards up. You’re trapped, Reggie.”

“No,” Regulus said, backing towards the window. “I’ve got my bargaining piece right here. I’ve got orders to kill her – I’ve got orders to kill you all. I could do it now. But I won’t. Because – because you’ll let me walk away if I’ve got her and she’s alive. Because you don’t know how much time that’ll buy her, but you _know_ it will be more than if you try stopping me.”

“Really?” Sirius asked. “You could do that, could you? You could do that in cold blood? You couldn’t even hurt me. You don’t really think you could kill a child of the blood?”

“Try me,” Regulus snarled.

Sirius shoved his wand into his pocket and threw his arms out. “Here. Prove it.”

 _Fuck!_ He was going to kill Sirius if they got out of here alive.

Regulus drew a breath, and lifted his wand, pointing it unerringly at Sirius’ chest. “ _A-Av-Avada…_ ”

He choked.

Sirius threw his head back and laughed.

“You bastard!” Regulus snarled.

“No such luck, old boy,” Sirius drawled, and drew his wand again. “Well, made your mind up?”

“I don’t have to kill her,” Regulus said. “I – she’s a metamorphmagus. She’s useful.”

Remus glared at Nym, willing her to see him. Just as he was giving up hope, her eyes widened, and she stared at him, hiccupping back a sob.

“Coward,” Sirius said, which Remus really didn’t think was very helpful.

What did six-year olds know? He hadn’t been one for years. Without time to guess, he choose the obvious.

“Nymphadora,” he said softly. “Wolf.”

She stared at him in bewilderment for a moment, breath jerking out in sobs. Then her eyes darkened and she opened her mouth, her jaw swelling.

“You can’t bargain with the Dark Lord, Reggie,” Sirius said tauntingly, which Remus hoped meant he’d noticed what was happening. “He doesn’t care that you’re a Black.”

Nym twisted her head and lunged, planting huge teeth into Regulus’ arm. He screamed, and let go.

“ _Accio Nymphadora!_ ” Remus roared. Sirius threw himself forwards, slamming Regulus back against the wall.

Nym crashed into his shoulder, scrabbling to throw her arms around his neck. Remus grabbed her, and shouted, “Sirius! We have to move!”

Sirius was still pounding Regulus’ head against the wall. Regulus, Remus noticed, wasn’t fighting back any more.

“Sirius!” he yelled again. “Stop!”

Sirius dropped his brother, staring down at him, shoulders shaking. He turned to stare at Remus, looking lost.

“We have to go,” Remus said. “The house is on fire.”

“Reggie,” Sirius said. “He’s unconscious.”

“Bring him too,” Remus snapped. Nym had started to cough and he grabbed a rag off the bed and wrapped it lightly around her face.

“I _can’t._ ”

“Why not?”

“He’s of age!”

“Shit,” Remus muttered. Leave him and he’d burn. Take him and he’d face Azkaban. Then he shoved Nym at Sirius and stumbled to the window, tugging at the sash. Then he reached over and began to drag Regulus away from the bed. Sirius shifted Nym to one arm and came to help.

Regulus stirred as the breeze from the window hit his face. “What- where- Sirius?”

“Shut up,” Sirius said, his voice hard. “Try to relax as you hit the ground.”

Regulus struggled, his arms caught as his robes tangled below him. “Why?”

“Everyone gets a second chance,” Remus said. “On your feet.”

He still seemed dazed as they tipped him out the window, but he landed crouching. After a moment he began to drag himself away. Another shadowy figure appeared out of the mist and wrapped an arm around him, dragging him away.

Nym was crying into Sirius’ neck. Sirius was staring after his brother, lips set.

Remus grabbed his sleeve and headed for the door, pulling Sirius after him.

A glowing shape erupted through the smoke, and reared in front of them, beating a clear patch in the air. Then, shaking its antlers, it said, in James’ voice, “House is clear! We’re in the kitchen! Run! The stairs are on fire!”

Sirius took off at a run, the stag loping before him. Remus dashed after him.

The heat almost knocked him over as he crossed onto the landing, and he staggered to the head of the stairs, gasping for breath. He could see the air blurring with heat, and couldn’t seem to get a full breath into his lungs.

Sirius was thundering down the stairs ahead of him, shimmering with the heat. Remus threw himself after him, and bit back a cry as the heat of the floorboards seared up through his shoes.

Behind him there was a thin tinkle of breaking glass and a sudden howl of escaping air as a pipe caught fire.

Then he was at the foot of the stairs, and James was leaping out of the kitchen to drag him in.

The door slammed behind him, and he bent over, trying to get air back into his lungs. In front of him Sirius was leaning on the counter, coughing desperately.

The air was still hot in here, but somebody had managed to seal the doors with charms.

“Daddy!” Nym wailed.

“I’m right here, sweetheart,” Ted said. Remus looked up in time to see some of the worry slide off his face. His arms were full with Andromeda, who was still unconscious, but no longer shaking. Alice had taken Nym from Sirius, and she lifted her up so Ted could smile straight at her.

“That’s my brave girl,” he said.

Nym sniffed. “There was a bad man. I bit him and Remus threw him out the window.”

Remus shifted uneasily. He really didn’t want to have to explain what had just happened to anyone in authority.

Ted glanced at Remus, and then nodded. “Thank you.”

Remus wasn’t sure what to say. He just shrugged.

“Fuck,” Peter said softly.

“What’s wrong?” Lily asked sharply. Remus saw James’ arm tighten around her.

“Wards,” Peter said. “All around us. I can’t fix on escape coordinates.”

“Nothing?” Alice said sharply. “We can’t run for it. Andie and Fabien are hurt and we’ve got the baby.”

“I’m _not_ a baby!”

“Course you’re not, darling.”

“Are there any gaps?” McKinnon asked.

“West,” Peter said, his face twisted with frustration. “But we don’t have any safe points due west of here, and I need somewhere where I know the coordinates. There isn’t anywhere – unless you’ve got somewhere we can run to.”

“Wormtail, you prat,” James said.

“Fuck off,” Peter said automatically. “What?”

James grinned, the flames outside reflecting off his glasses, and said, “Pooh Corner.”


	32. Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings

Lily grabbed a corner of the umbrella, taking a breath. James was still holding on to her, and she pressed back against his shoulder, darting a smile up at him. He might be a daft fool with a mustard obsession, but he was her daft fool.

She wasn’t the only one holding onto someone else. Ted had Andromeda, of course, and Frank had his free hand on Alice’s shoulder. Fabien Prewitt was leaning on McKinnon, his face pale.

“Four, three,” Peter counted down.

Sirius was holding onto Remus as if he’d never let go.

“Two, one.”

She closed her eyes as the world swirled. Portkeys always made her feel sick.

A moment later she felt carpet under her feet and opened her eyes.

They were in a large, dark room. The light from a streetlamp was coming in the window, and she could see the shapes of chairs and a big sofa, like the one James’ mum had put in the old guestroom.

“Hang on,” Remus said. “I’ll put the light on.”

Lily blinked as the bulb flickered. Muggle lights. And a lampshade. She’d thought Pooh Corner was a code word between the four of them, but this was a house.

Ted had sunk onto the sofa with Andromeda, and Alice bent over them, looking worried. It really was very like Mrs Potter’s old sofa.

Peter closed the umbrella, and said, “I need a drink.”

“Help yourself,” James said, and Lily frowned, suspicion beginning to curl through her. Whose house was this?

“Have you got a first aid kit?” McKinnon asked sharply. “Fabien’s hurt.”

“Hang on,” James said, pulling away from her. “There’s bandages in the bathroom.”

“There’s all the standard potions, as well,” Sirius said. “I filled it up last week.”

“Did you?” James said, hurrying out of the room. “Ta.”

 _What?_

It was a nice enough room, as living rooms went. It could do without the stacks of Quidditch magazines, and the empty beer cans, but it was clean. It was also quite obviously lived in.

Lily was beginning to feel rather angry. She’d known they were keeping something from her, but this was somewhat beyond some brainless prank.

“Are you okay?” Remus said softly, and she shook herself.

“I’m fine,” she said. “They missed me. Are you alright? You swallowed quite a bit of smoke.”

“We all came out of it alive,” he said. “That’s good enough.”

She nodded, shivering. When Ted had gone to answer the unexpected knock on the door, she hadn’t expected it to be the first wave of an attack. She still wasn’t sure of why it had all happened. It had been too fast, and it seemed like there had been bare seconds between laughing over dessert, and racing behind Andromeda as she tried to get upstairs to Nymphadora. She hadn’t even realised they were in the house until a cold voice said, “Crucio!” and Andromeda collapsed.

She’d hurt that one badly. She wasn’t proud, but she wasn’t sorry either.

“It’s done,” Remus said. “Don’t dwell on it.”

She bit her lip, and nodded, trying to think of a new subject. “Where’s Sirius?”

“Talking to Dumbledore.” His cheeks had gone pink.

“Back together then?” she asked, because the blush amused her.

“Yes,” he said, and grinned at her. “Looks like you lost out on the sweepstake, though, Miss Evans.”

“You know about that?”

“I’m fine,” Andromeda said weakly from the sofa. “Nymphadora?”

“I’ve got her,” Alice said. “She’s fine. Going to be a Gryffindor, this one.”

“Nonsense,” Andromeda said tartly, and held out her arms. “She’s far too bright.”

Alice passed Nym down. She blinked and yawned, before leaning against Andromeda’s shoulder. Andromeda winced.

“Give her back,” Alice said. “She’s almost asleep. I’ll hunt down a bed for her, and she can sleep until we’re ready to move.”

“Thank you,” Andromeda said, and closed her eyes again. “Oh, Merlin, the house. Where-”

“You’re coming to us,” Frank said, and Alice added, “Don’t be daft, Andie. Right then, sweetheart, let’s find out whose house this is and if they’ve got a spare room for you to sleep in.”

“Spare room?” James said, coming back with an armful of bottles. “Plenty. First right at the top of the stairs – the bed’s made up.”

“Grand,” Alice said, shifting Nym on her hip. “So, Potter, is this _your_ house then?”

“Er,” James said, shooting a worried glance at Lily.

She had had enough. She folded her arms and said, “Actually, I’d rather like to know the answer to that question, too.”

“Er.”

“And the explanation will _not_ involve mustard.”

James gulped. “I – er – Lily.”

“Is this your house?”

He nodded, wild-eyed.

“And you now live here?”

Another jerky nod.

“Were you intending to mention this to me at some point?”

Another nod. It looked sincere, as far as she could read James. She stepped forward, and poked him in the shoulder. “You bought a house. You moved in. You’ve been talking about mustard since November. Is there anything _else_ you need to say to me?”

She could see his mouth working but no words were coming out. Behind him Peter was wringing his hands. Sirius was grinning, mouth open.

“Well?” she demanded, prodding him again.

He caught her hand. “Lily.”

She frowned up at him, attention caught by the note in his voice. She had learnt to appreciate his good humour, but there was more to James Potter than the fool. It had been glimpses of that solid, resolute core which had first made her look at him more carefully. She knew she was one of the few to see it, and that made it more precious to her.

“James,” she said gravely. “I just want to know what’s going on. Please.”

He’d fought Death Eaters tonight. What could he possibly have to say to her that was more frightening than that?

She was vaguely aware that everyone was watching them. She didn’t care. She’d been waiting weeks for him to stop behaving strangely.

Perhaps he was thinking the same thing, for he summoned a nervous grin, and said, “Lily, will you – will you marry me?”

 _What?_ That – he - _what?_ “Say that again.”

He still looked like he was about to faint, but he gulped and said again, “Lily, will you marry me?”

He didn’t hate her. He hadn’t gone mad. He wasn’t trying to dump her because he thought she’d be better off without him. He wanted – she stopped thinking and flung her arms around his neck and kissed him with all the happiness bubbling through her.

When she drew back he was still looking dazed, but he was beginning to grin. “Well, will you?”

“Of course I will, you imbecile,” Lily said, and dragged him down again.

*

Sirius joined in the general cheer with enthusiasm. Then he bounded over to join Remus, who was leaning on the wall, shaking his head in amusement.

James let go of Lily for a moment to bellow, “Padfoot! I asked! Did you hear me? I asked!”

“Good man,” Sirius called, and wound his arm between Remus and the wall.

“He finally did it,” Remus said, laughing.

“Took him long enough,” Sirius said blithely, and turned Remus round so he could reach his lips.

He didn’t pull back until someone started clapping beside him.

Alice Longbottom was smirking at them. “Is there something in the air?”

“It’s your company, Alice,” Sirius said. “Like Typhoid Mary.”

She cackled and leant back beside them. “Took your time. I had my money on the 21st.”

Remus winced.

She grinned again and leant forward to murmur, “Word of advice. Partitions at work – can’t hold two people’s weight.”

“Voice of experience?” Remus asked demurely.

“Frank’s not the only happily married man in the office,” she said and tilted her head towards the sofa.

Sirius snorted with laughter. “Alice, I adore you. We’ll give Remus to Frank and you I can run away to Morocco.”

“Just try it,” Remus murmured, and slid his arms around him.

Sirius knew he was grinning like a fool. He couldn’t quite bring himself to care.

Alice shook her head. “You’re a lost cause, gorgeous. Right. Looks like Potter’s busy. Do you know if there’s another spare room? Andie’s not as tough as she thinks she is.”

“There’s plenty,” Sirius said, and began to untangle himself.

She shook her head at him. “Tell me where, and I’ll do the rest.”

“There’s two more rooms behind the one you put Nym in. There’s sheets in the airy cupboard.”

“Thanks.”

Sirius watched her go, his mood sobering. There was plenty to celebrate tonight, but there were sorrows, too. Meda had lost her home, and Steven Radcliffe was an orphan in truth. Regulus – he still didn’t want to think about Reggie.

Remus leant against him and said softly, “Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die.”

“That’s cheery.”

“Cheerier than you. Don’t think about it.”

He nodded, thinking, and then grabbed Remus’ hand and dragged him out through the kitchen.

“Where are we going?” Remus protested.

“Outside,” Sirius said. “I want to tell you something.”

“It’s fucking cold out there.”

“You won’t freeze.”

There was a bench in the garden. The fence behind it was already glittering with frost, but Sirius swung up onto it anyway. Remus scrambled up beside him, muttering. The moon was only a slither, and he could only see the shadows on Remus’ face. It made it somehow easier to say, “I told Dumbledore about Regulus.”

Remus took a breath, and then squeezed his knee.

Sirius stared up. He could see the stars, faint beneath the glow of the city. “I reckon – well, if anyone can give him a chance, it’s Dumbledore, isn’t it? And then, well, at least he knows.”

“I’m glad you did it,” Remus said.

“Yeah.” It didn’t explain why he still felt like a traitor to something intangible.

“Nothing to worry about now, then,” Remus said.

“Except the war, my family, the moon-”

“The TV licence,” Remus added thoughtfully.

Sirius gave up, and let him lighten the mood. “I still don’t understand why they’re sending me letters.”

“They want money.”

“Everyone wants money,” Sirius said, adding a whine to make Remus smile.

“I don’t.”

“Oh, you,” said Sirius happily, snaking an arm around him. “You’re just after my body.”

“Idiot,” Remus said fondly and kissed him.


End file.
